


Fall Out Avengers

by MerryCorgis



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Bandom Big Bang 2015, Comedy, Gen, Mild Blood, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:44:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerryCorgis/pseuds/MerryCorgis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy Hurley, Joe Trohman, and Patrick Stump spend their evenings defending New Chicago from anything super-villains can throw at it. Things have been going slow lately, so when a figure from their past re-emerges with an appetite for revenge, they're forced to clock in a lot of overtime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> A joint entry for Bandom Big Bang 2015 with MerryMermaids. This is a revamp of an earlier story that we dearly loved, which can be found [here](http://legionella.deviantart.com/art/Fall-Out-Avengers-Prologue-ch1-207938632) (read at your own risk).
> 
> The usual disclaimers: we don't own the men these characters are based off of, this story is 100% fictional, and any views the characters may have do not reflect those of the authors.  
> -CC

##### Prologue

Having super powers has _always_ been an impossible dream for human beings everywhere.

If only we could be courageous, strong and noble, like the great man of steel, Superman himself. Or perhaps to be bold, brave, and daring such as the dark knight, Batman— jumping rooftop to rooftop, protecting your city from villainous harm and putting crime waves to screeching halt, if only it were true for us, the people of the past.

Back then it just didn't happen. 

There were no costumed super heroes, like in the comics and cartoons, running around in colorful tights and capes, and there certainly weren't any psychotic, warped super villains, seeking revenge on the entire human race, their own different purposes always haunted in their thoughts.

What were the worst 'bad guys' we had back then? Murderers, rapists, robbers, psychos - but _no one_ with super, god-like powers, or heavy weaponry and steel armor.

However, that was then.

It is now the year 2111, and like all species on earth, we evolved. People's genes began mutating and changing inside of them, adapting them to whatever their DNA felt useful for the newer times approaching the human race.

But, only a few select people mutated. It's known in this time as a 'rare disease' and seen as one, though it is far from that. Because of this new, ever-changing, mutating gene, people have _finally_ started living the old dream -- our dream.

Super heroes.

However, there are a select few, such as Batman, Punisher, and Green Arrow, that don't have the 'disease'. These vigilantes have managed to fight crime alongside the other few brave souls.

Unfortunately, it’s not just the good-hearted and virtuous who have contracted the disease.

There are super powered villains, who make any two-timed robber _easily_ seem like a huge joke. They have chosen their path as evil, and do not wish to change.

Fret not, there is good news.

The main characters of this story are two super powered heroes -- Patrick Stump and Joseph Trohman -- who caught the 'disease', alongside with their human friend, Andrew Hurley— are here to protect New Chicago and all its inhabitants.

These three young heroes:

SuperTrick, The TrohFro, and Anarcho Vegan Man - are _our_ superheroes and much better than any 'Superman' or 'Batman', I'd say.

These three are:

_The Fall Out Avengers_.

* * *

"Have a nice weekend, Patrick!" He heard his boss yell in her annoying voice as he locked the store up.

Patrick glanced up at the orange neon sign outside of the record store. Blind Tiger buzzed down at him, flashing to attract customers, so the sign never went off. He shook his head towards it, sighing a bit. _City’s problem, not mine._ He climbed into his car, the sound of the ignition gave him a sense of freedom.

That’s right. The city’s greatest hero, SuperTrick, worked at a minimum wage job, in retail— this is because you don’t get paid for heroism. _And in a sense_ , Patrick thought, _it was better off that way_. With the way crime was in the city right now, he’d be in the poorhouse – not that it was a bad thing. It just meant he and his fellow avengers were doing an excellent job in keeping crooks and robbers off the streets.

As the young hero drove down the quiet streets, he began to remember a random forum post, written by a 80 year old blogger, about the old days: ”-There was no way you could walk home without fearing that you were going to be robbed at gunpoint or shot down in some random gang fight.”

_Times change, I suppose_ , Patrick thought, as he pulled up to the apartment complex.

Crime is so low that police are close to nonexistent. Don't be wrong, they’re still on the streets, but the blogger thought she'd never see the day when all this ‘neighborhood unity’ spiel was going to actually matter. If you ask anyone, it still doesn't. Hell, Patrick only knew one girl in his apartment complex.

He checked his mailbox— nothing as usual— and headed up to his apartment.

Patrick pulled off his shoes before collapsing face down onto his couch. He felt his eyes dropping closed and soon after drifted off to sleep.

The vibrations of his cell phone woke him from what seemed like mere minutes later. He fumbled for it in his back pocket and projected the message from the screen. His drowsy vision blurred the numbers together on the hologram.

**Call from: Andy** the bright screen blared at him, causing him to blink in confusion several times. He let out an exasperated groan.

_I seriously do not feel like answering you right now_ , he thought, and let it go straight to voicemail while he closed his eyes once again.

Several unanswered calls later, Patrick finally picked up.

" **What**?" He growled, irritated.

"Patrick, why the hell aren’t you answering? I called you, like, 17 times!"

"I was sleeping, give me a break!"

"You need to get down to headquarters, now."

"… Do I need to suit up?"

"Doesn’t matter, just get down here A.S.A.P. Some weird shit’s going down tonight."

He locked the phone, rubbing at his eyes with his palms. He strained his tired muscles into an upright sitting position and stared at the wall. _If this is some petty crime that the police can handle, I am not going to be fucking happy_. He then stretched and got up.

~~

The sound of a call disconnecting and an annoyed growl came from across the room.

"That kid needs to learn to pick up the damn phone."

"Andy, chill," Joe sighed, playing a mindless app all the while. "He's coming, so be glad for that."

"Chill out? Chill _out_?! It shouldn't take me seventeen calls to reach him! Hell, it shouldn't take me two!" he snapped, his voice moving along with him as he paced the room.

"Awright!" Joe shouted ecstatically. 

Andy stopped pacing immediately. "What is it, good news?!"

"Yeah, I beat my old highscore!"

"Will you pay attention, please?"

Joe, rolling his eyes, looked up at the screen in front of him for the first time in what seemed like half an hour. He had a feeling that something should've changed by now. The typed-out version of everything and anything recorded on the cops' radio feed was facing him in black and white.

"Still nothing on the report," He groaned, scrolling up to look at the history.

It was quiet except for one unconfirmed report from about fifteen minutes ago, which was why they were all here.

... Well, 'they' being Andy and Joe, for the time-being.

That one unconfirmed event was fairly vague -- a man with what were assumed to be loaded firearms was seen lurking around some houses across the city, but wasn't able to be found after the witness stepped into an alley to call emergency services. It wasn't a lot to go on, but it wasn't the first time this type of thing had crossed the radar. All were similar accounts, all ending with the trespasser mysteriously disappearing into thin air.

Definitely something to keep a few tabs on, but what made this time so different and urgent compared to the last?

This time the man was accompanied by what was described as a -- quote-unquote -- dinosaur.

Joe yawned and leaned back in his chair. His job was to look out for anything that resembled a guy carrying guns… or a dinosaur. Instead, he went back to his game once again.

Andy sat down, mulling over the facts. _A dinosaur_. he thought, sighing under his breath. In his opinion, city folk were beginning to go delirious from lack of crime.

The watch was interrupted by the cellar door creaking open. Andy glared, still upset, at the man who flew in.

...Literally _flew in_.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Patrick apologized right when he saw the expression on Andy’s face. He slowly hovered down to meet the older man at eye level. His face was that of a little kid who had just colored all over the living room walls in red crayon... and was apprehended.

Andy’s body started to relax as he sighed. “Fine, it's okay… whatever."

Patrick gave him a tiny smile.

"So if the lovey-dovey couple over there are done ogling each other, I think we have more important matters?" Joe raised an eyebrow at his partners.

"... Lovey dovey?" Andy was about to refute this wild accusation, when Patrick flew over to Joe. He hovered next to him, arms crossed.

"What's the situation?"

"Unbelievable. People are saying they keep spotting -- quote -- 'a man holding firearms while walking around the streets', but every time someone goes to check... poof."

"… Poof?" Patrick questioned, a single eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, you know, _poof_! He's gone, disappeared, vanished into thin air, pulled a Houdini --"

"Okay, I get it. And you called me seventeen times for this because...?"

"A lot of them are saying they see a- er, ‘dinosaur’ with him." Joe paused. "--And on a side note, only Andy called you."

Andy rolled his eyes at him, and walked up to them both.

Patrick's faced washed over with a look of disbelief. "A... dinosaur? They've been extinct for millions of years."

"True, but we think it could be a strange gene mutation," Andy inquired.

Patrick pondered this and nodded. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

There was a bit of an awkward, but thoughtful, silence.

"Well, 'Trick, you're the leader," Andy shrugged his shoulders a bit. "What do we do?"

Patrick grew silent again, obviously thinking through the situation.

Right away, Joe started playing apps again. 

Patrick wasn't phased in the slightest by it. 

Andy, however, balled his hands into fists to keep himself from punching the daylights out of Joe. He didn't realize that he had started grinning at the thought until Patrick spoke.

"Okay, here's what we're gonna -- Andy, stop fantasizing about killing Joe."

The archer cleared his throat and stood with his hands folded in front of him. 

Joe stuck his tongue out at him, like an immature child, and Patrick continued.

"I think we should all get suited up and go on patrol."

~~

"Gabe, keep quiet," The tanned man hissed at the scaly one lagging behind him.

The mysterious pair were currently hiding in a dark alley, and the gunner could tell they were being stalked. ”This is my punishment for choosing such a bumbling _idiot_ as a minion,” Ego, the gunner, grumbled.

"Sorry, Ego- er, sir," The words awkwardly rolled out of Gabe’s mouth. His apologies were left unjustified as he almost knocked over a metal trash can right after.

Ego growled under his breath about being ready to blast his accomplice's brains out, but froze as he heard footsteps coming their way. "Stay here, I'll take care of this," he mumbled to Gabe, who only nodded, sliding back into the shadows. Ego reached for his most prized pistols, affectionately named ‘Baby’ and ‘Lucky’. He pulled them out, fingers on either trigger, and jumped out of the alleyway to meet the stalker-

It was a cop. _Great, the last thing I need is one of them on my trail._

"Stop right where you are!" The cop barked at the villain as he fumbled to get his gun out.

Ego smirked and shot the innocent man down before the cop could even lay a finger on his pistol. Ego strolled over to the dead body, Lucky and Baby already nestled in their holsters. He picked up the dead man and hoisted him over his shoulder before heading back to Gabe—or “Serpent” as his minion called himself.

“Let’s get out of here and head back to base,” Dr. Ego stated, not glancing once at Serpent. “I have dead weight, and more cops will be here soon—“

“Maybe you shouldn’t have used your guns?” Serpent inquired.

Ego stopped dead in his tracks, and clenched a tight fist. He shot around, glaring daggers in Serpent’s direction.

“We already have _enough_ reports about us from cops we let _live_ ,” Ego’s icy words pierced Gabe, who only shrank away from the loud voice.

“Now help me get into the damn sewers, unless you want to share the same fate as _this_ fat fuck,” Ego jostled the cop, referring to the dead man.

Gabe nodded diffidently to show his understanding, and hissed out a curse under his breath. He wouldn’t be with this man forever; one day he wouldn’t need his damn cure, and he would finally be free. Gabe, with reluctance, slid open a manhole cover, and down the sewer they went.

Before continuing down towards their secret passageway, Ego threw the dead cop’s body, unceremoniously, into the sewer water. The body floated downstream with the water's current. Ego smirked in satisfaction, wiping the blood on his pant’s leg as he watched the dead man float out of view.

“Let's keep moving!” He turned to Serpent, pushing him along. Gabe looked back and hissed at the gunman. Ego shot him a glance, before moving ahead, down the dank tunnel ways.

They finally reached the concealed doorway, Ego punching in the access code. The large circular door opened with a whining groan and the duo were about to make their way inside. Before they could even cross the threshold, an unaccounted-for voice gently coughed somewhere in the dim room.

Ego’s guns were already whipped out, ready to fire. He growled into the darkness, “Who’s there? Show yourself!“

“Hello, Peter,” The voice drawled enticingly from the darkness. A light flickered on to show a lanky man, overdressed for his surroundings with his auburn hair stylized into a perfect swoop. He was sitting all-too comfortably in a scavenged chair.

Ego’s guns remained where they were, unchanged by the all too familiar figure. “ _Beckett_ ,” Ego snarled.


	2. Dinosaur Extinction is the Opposite of a Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evidence leaves out heroes with more questions than answers; Beckett and Dr. Ego talk business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by our lovely beta, [Syrupwit!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit)

Patrick frowned deeply. He hovered above his two comrades, his eyes scanning every alleyway for anything suspicious. He glided over the streets, a groan of disapproval escaping his lips— _Nothing._

"Find anything?" Patrick shouted, hopelessly, back toward the others.

"Nothing yet," Joe answered back, disappointment in his voice. 

Dismay was quickly replaced by bewilderment, at the sound of Andy’s voice. “Guys, get over here, _quick_!”

Joe and Patrick wasted no time following the sound of Andy's voice. Soon, the three of them settled around a pool of blood.

"Don't get too close," Patrick warned as Joe began to move forward.

"What happened here?" Andy asked, his arms crossed.

"Probably the dinosaur," Joe grinned in amusement.

"There is _no_ dinosaur," Patrick glared, crossing his arms at the stupid thought of a prehistoric animal running about the city.

"Well, have _you_ ever seen one? I think not, Patrick," Joe smirked, triumphant, earning a deadly stare from Patrick.

Andy had wandered away from the conversation to continue searching for clues. "Found a bullet casing, guys!" he shouted from several feet deeper into the alley. Patrick and Joe immediately rushed over to examine the bullet.

"Looks like somebody didn't clean up," Patrick noted.

Joe sighed deeply. "This is all we have as far as clues. What now?"

“Joe’s right, is this going to be a dead end?” Patrick wondered aloud.

"Who said we couldn't track down who bought the bullet?" Andy chimed in, questioning the other two.

Joe looked thoughtful for a moment before grinning wickedly. “I guess you could say we’re at a,” he paused to take his sports sunglasses off, “dead end.”

Andy scowled and punched Joe in the arm, eliciting a yelp from his teammate. “Shut the fuck up.”

Joe winced, tending his bruising arm. “What? The alley’s a dead end! It’s a perfectly good pun, Andy. It was a perfectly good pun and now I’m in _pain_ because you don’t like jokes.” He pouted to add emphasis.

"Look...let's go back to base and figure out where this bullet came from," Patrick sighed, beginning to hover out of the alley.

Joe looked around the alley a bit more. Even though it was nearly pitch-black in the area, he had to wonder how someone could just lose sight of a _dinosaur_. Those things were big, bulky, and he assumed they'd be loud, too—so how could it just disappear?

He looked down to see a trail of blood that led to a manhole no more than ten feet away from him. Could it have gone into the sewers?

_Nah, that just seemed too... Impossible._

Sure, there was no description of how big the thing was; but, huge or not, anything human-sized with a tail wouldn't be able to squirm its way down there—and, if he recalled, dinosaurs were rarely smaller than a person.

"Joe, you coming or not?" 

Joe snapped out of his thoughts and turned his head toward the voice. 

Andy stood on the outside edge of the fire escape of the building, staring at Joe with a look of questioning and impatience.

"Yeah," Joe answered, "Let's go before Trick leaves us—"

"He already did," Andy interrupted with a blank stare.

"... He’s not going to beat me again!” And at that, Joe was gone in a blur of green and black.

Andy squeezed his eyes shut. It seemed all the wind in the world followed his friend, and it practically knocked him off his feet. He opened his eyes when the gale blew down. Andy groaned, grabbing onto the fire escape ladder and climbing towards the rooftop. "I need to invest in a vehicle… or _something_ to keep up with those two," he grumbled as he pulled himself on to the top of the building. He began running and jumping buildings all the way back to base by his lonesome, as fast as his normal legs could take him.

~~

Peter Wentz had started out as a simple college professor, teaching mechanics and science with his PhD in biomedical engineering. Always the bright one and at the top of his class all throughout his life, he was constantly tinkering with machines, as well as disassembling and reassembling them in near record time. Peter had once lived the good life—he had a wife and a child, and lived in a quiet suburban home with his picturesque family. But, as it usually went with all happy stories, there was a bitter end.

One day, while walking home from the university, he found himself caught in a battle between the Fall Out Avengers and a villain. Anarcho-Vegan Man fired a shot at the criminal, but the villain dodged his arrow with great speed. Unfortunately, the arrow continued its path to where Mr. Wentz was standing, dumbfounded and scared. The arrow then punctured his eye, blinding him permanently. 

When he had awoke in the hospital, the left side of his face was heavily bandaged and bloody. The surgeon had explained that his left eye could not be salvaged, nor the portion of the frontal lobe that controlled his emotions. Peter, simultaneously angry and scared, had shouted for his wife, his anger boiling. Ashlee refused to see him in his disfigured state. Weeks later his marriage fell apart; Ashlee took away their son, Bronx, unable to bear living with her _imperfect_ husband. 

Using his past experience creating prototypes for prosthetic organs, he created a bionic eye for himself, giving back the vision he had once lost. It still wouldn't bring back his old life, and he still sought revenge on the one who had taken it from him.

He had thought that part of his past was behind him, but that wasn’t the case anymore—not at the moment, anyway.

Ego snarled at the shadowed figure before him. Now let's get one thing straight: Dr. Ego did not like people. And he _especially_ did not like people bursting into _his_ lab as if they owned the place.

But, most importantly, he did not like William Beckett being this certain person.

It had taken him ages to stumble upon the abandoned subway station, the tunnels leading into the sewers making for a great escape route and access to the city above. Unfinished maintenance rooms were now used as storage closets—the largest of these was Ego’s private workshop. It was also the messiest, with a single metal table, a dirty old mattress in the corner, and tools and machine parts scattered everywhere in the controlled chaos.

Currently, they were in one of the larger tunnels, sealed off to the public above. It was used as the computer and ‘living’ room (but the only things living in it were a couple of rats, and even they were dead). A giant monitor was hooked up to a stolen generator against one wall, with its keyboard resting on a homemade shelf underneath. A small array of mismatched chairs were centered around a scratched-up wooden table. Of course, Ego’s favorite swivel chair, which sat near the computer, was currently occupied by the annoying man from his past.

Beckett gave Ego a smirk as he leaned back in the chair, twiddling a pocket knife between his fingers, his eyes never leaving the other man. 

"Beckett, you have exactly _one minute_ to explain why you’re here.” Ego gritted his teeth, clenching a tight, balled up fist. "And my name is Dr. Ego, not Peter, in case you haven’t heard the news."

"I know...but you know how much I love pissing you off," William sneered.

Ego did not hesitate; he whipped out Lucky and Baby, simultaneously cocking them both.

Beckett stared down the barrels of the guns with a placid look.

"I’ll ask again—why the hell are you here?"

William looked up at Ego with a bored glance, then rolled his eyes. "Well, Ego," he said, as if talking to a child. "The way I see it, you still owe me after what you did to me—"

“What you did was your own fault—you _agreed_ to it, in case you forgot,” Ego hissed out. All this was happening very quickly, and he did not like it one bit.

“May I continue, please?” William deadpanned.

Ego remained where he was.

"Thank you—I know what you're doing down here, I've been watching you from afar. You're building war machines to frighten and destroy the entire city."

Serpent, who had been observing the scene silently until now, butted in. "I'll just leave you two alone." His voice was meek as he slipped away into what could almost be called “a room”.

Beckett, out of the corner of his eye, watched the creature go. Where Dr. Ego had found the poor thing, he had no idea. Nor did he care at the moment. "Peter, you're the reason I got these accursed powers. Do you honestly think anyone would want to be a monster?”

William could still remember how it all happened: he hadn’t known what, but something had been stirring around inside Professor Wentz. When Peter had asked William, his student, to be a test subject for a “secret experiment” in exchange for a passing grade in his class, William had accepted.

The experiment had gone horribly awry. The machine, built by Peter, had been designed to turn any normal human being into something like the genetically altered super humans with just a flick of the switch. However, even though it did alter William’s DNA as hypothesized, it also gave him sickness—of the physical and mental variety. A sickness that could only be quenched by the smell and taste of fresh blood.

And thus, to his dismay, a very painful procedure had turned William Beckett into what he was today. He didn't even get the extra credit.

Beckett almost looked despondent. "But anyway, all that's in the past now, I suppose?" He smiled sweetly at his old teacher—a man once respected by everyone, now shamefully living his life in hiding after the _incident_ that had driven him mad. 

Beckett continued, his words icy. "Now, as I was saying: I have taken the liberty to _ensure my own self_ that I would gain your trust, through means I’m sure you will enjoy."

Ego, now curious, had slowly put his guns down, but he didn't holster them. "Go on."

Beckett smirked and continued as he rose from his seat. "As I was saying, I know you're building a war machine to terrorize the town...and I want in."

"And you expect me to trust you?" Ego glared at him, his fingers twitching on the triggers of both guns.

Beckett only kept that faux-innocent smile on his face. "I know you hate Anarcho-Vegan Man, Pet—Dr. Ego." Beckett took mental notes: Ego squirmed slightly at the superhero's name, clearly thinking about what the so-called ‘hero’ had done to him. "He took your eye and you want to take his life, I understand completely. In exchange for a place to stay, I wish to _help you_ get your revenge."

"Wonderful to know… but, I still don't see how this answers my previous question: ‘Why should I even begin to trust you?!’"

"Well, for one thing—" Beckett started to say. He strode over to Ego, swung an arm around the older man’s shoulders, and began walking with him.

Ego tensed in the younger boy's arms as he was forced to follow along.

Beckett walked over to the giant computer screen and pressed a button on the keyboard. The screen flashed and hummed on to an already open file.

Ego’s entire body relaxed, his shoulders slumping in surprise. He grinned wide at the sight he saw on the screen—or rather, what he _didn’t_ see.

"I've already taken the liberty of removing you from every database in the city, and if possible, the entire _world_! No one will be able to find any trace of you now."

Ego continued to stare, wide-eyed, at the screen. _Now I remember why William was one of my favorite students._ With a grin, he faced the younger man and shook his hand. “You got yourself a deal, Beckett.”

~~

Patrick placed the bullet onto a high-tech scanner that connected to their computer. He dashed over to a keyboard and began typing swiftly and furiously.

Andy and Joe watched this, their heads both craned up at the giant monitor, waiting for the answer to the question that was on everyone's mind: _Where did the bullet come from?_

"Okay, guys," Patrick said to his two friends. His eyes were still switching between the screen and the keyboard. "Survey says..." he sang out in a monotone voice, then clicked an icon on the screen to start up a roulette-like deal. This “roulette,” however, was just the profiles of registered criminals, documented by the New Chicago police department.

They all looked on as the scanner emitted a light that scanned over every inch of the bullet several times. It made the giant screen become sporadic. The system was going through every single incarcerated criminal ever documented, looking for a match from fingerprints or from the serial numbers on the fire arms the crooks had once owned.

Finally, it stopped on a blank screen. Out of all the thousands of people, none of them were even a _close_ match. Disappointment hung heavy in the air.

Patrick balled up his hand and slammed it down.

Andy and Joe nearly jumped out of their skin at the loud slam that emitted throughout the base.

Patrick bowed his head, his fist resting on a now heavily dented desk. "How can the gunman not be in there?" Patrick asked, more to himself than anyone else in the room.

Andy and Joe exchanged glances, then stared at the ground, unable to give their friend an answer.

"'Trick," Andy replied after a while. Patrick remained tensed up where he was. "We'll find him, okay? But right now I'm pretty sure we're all just tired." Andy cautiously placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, which neither tensed nor moved. "Let's all get some sleep, and we'll figure it out first thing in the morning," Andy suggested. 

Joe nodded in agreement.

It was five in the morning; everyone was tired and frustrated by this point.

Patrick heaved a sigh and turned to look at his friends' tired faces. He couldn't blame them, though, and Andy did have a point. "Alright... we'll meet back here tomorrow."

Joe and Andy nodded in unison. That was their plan, now to head home and rest. Maybe something new would develop in the morning.


	3. Middle-Aged Mutant Track Star Cobra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out that gators don't dwell in the sewers, giant cobra men do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd once again like to thank our lovely beta, [syrupwit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit)!
> 
> This one's a bit longer than the first two, so hunker down!  
> -CC

Patrick sat at his second-hand, cherry wood desk in the corner of his apartment and sighed. He held his head in his hands, his fingers running through his hair. He groaned as he thought.

_It's not making any **sense**. The "dinosaur" sightings, the dead cop, the blank profile— goddamn it, what the **fuck** is going on? Who could be the person behind this? They've got to have major hacking skills, be super fast, and own at least one gun. We can narrow it down to... **nobody** , since whoever is doing this is totally off the grid. **Great**._

Going in circles was getting Patrick nowhere. He couldn't remember the last time he’d had a decent night's sleep, so he decided to call it a night and went to wash up. A glimpse at the mirror in his bathroom revealed a tired, older looking Patrick Stump, instead of the young, hard working SuperTrick he was trying so hard to be. 

"You look hideous when you don't sleep," he muttered, stifling a yawn, "but it's not like the city'll be destroyed if you catch some rest, right?"

Patrick tried not to think of the worst answer to that question. He took a quick swig of mouthwash and wandered off to bed. If the city's safety could wait, so could his oral hygiene.

~~

Gabe wandered aimlessly through the sewer's tunnels, much like he did every night when Dr. Ego was in a bad mood—which was all the time.

After a while of pointless walking, he became bored and decided to sit down near the edge of the contaminated river. He bent over as he stared into his own reflection, but couldn't figure out whether the water was brown or if it was just the color of his scales. He saw his forked tongue flicker out inadvertently, and sighed.

"Way to go, idiot," he said to himself. His voice came out in a natural hiss. "You forgot to get the injection from the Doc. Now you’re a hideous snake man!" he told himself, flinging his arms in the air in exasperation.

He could still remember how it all happened. Way back before, when he was normal and wasn’t some half-cobra freak. He’d had a wonderful life and lived in a nice enough neighborhood. He remembered how he made friends with everyone he came in contact with, all because of his natural charm and charisma.

Everything in his life had been perfect. That is, until he had been diagnosed with a malignant form of leukemia—a cancer of the blood. He thought back at the idiot doctors who had decided to use him as the guinea pig for their new cancer treatment. He couldn't believe how stupid he had been to agree.

The doctors had used concentrated snake venom as an ingredient in the chemotherapy part of his treatment, which, for obvious reasons, hadn’t worked out too well. The venom had combined with a dormant 'hero gene' that had directly affected his DNA, making him appear grotesque and snake-like . He had tried to go back home, but upon entering, his family, friends—everyone he knew and loved—had pointed trembling fingers at him with shrill screams. " **Monster!** " they had spat out at him.

Gabe had had nowhere to go but into a dark alleyway. He had felt lost, confused, and overall angry with everyone. He had hated them all, but at the same time he’d still cared for them. It had torn him apart.

That is, until a strange man had caught sight of him: Dr. Ego, who had pretended to be nothing more than a saint offering him a cure. Gabriel hadn’t had the slightest idea that this man was a devil in disguise. This man would force Gabe to go along with his plans for city destruction if he wished to be human again.

Now Gabe was stuck as Ego's minion. He wasn't even a partner in crime, for fuck’s sake, and was only given this temporary “cure” when he was not needed.

Gabe screwed his eyes shut and took in a breath. He didn't want to look at himself any longer. In fact, he felt like just ending it all right there.

"Hey!"

Gabe snapped his head toward the direction of the voice, his hood fanned out with instinct. He grimaced and covered his eyes with a huge, clawed hand as a brilliant light flashed over him. "Oh, crap," he muttered as he bolted to his feet.

Down the tunnel stood a figure with insane, unruly hair. He appeared to be clad in green and black tights.

There was a beat where neither party moved. Gabe would’ve found it funny if the situation wasn’t so terrifying. Before he could even think it over, he found himself running—no, _sprinting_ away from the unknown hero in spandex.

"Come back here, you!" the man shouted from far behind Gabe.

Even though Gabe had created quite a large gap between him and his unwanted company, the concrete tunnels made sure that the message echoed its way over to him.

Gabe couldn’t stop, no matter how bad he just wanted to let the hero to catch him so he could escape his contract with Ego. He heard that jail wasn’t as bad as it sounded, but incarceration would mean being stuck as a reptile for the rest of his years.

So he kept running as fast as he could on the filthy path, back to the secret entrance to Ego's lab. He didn't want to hear any more annoying bickering between Ego and Beckett, but had no choice. He couldn’t afford losing the possibility of having a normal future.

He was almost home free when he heard strange, rapid-paced footsteps behind him. He turned his head to look, and to his dismay, saw the man catching up to him with inhuman speed.

"Ssshit!" Gabe screeched. His heart pounded against his ribcage at a furious rate. He somehow managed to gain more speed rather than collapse into cardiac arrest.

"Hold up!" the man yelled out to him.

_As-fucking-if!_ Gabe mentally retorted as he quickly darted behind a corner and dove to hide amongst the shadows. His breath came out in rasping heaves, and he put a hand to his heart as if to calm it.

After taking a few moments to catch his breath, Gabe decided to be brave and peek around the corner. His big mouth curled into a devilish grin when he saw that the “hero” had tripped and fallen. “Sucker,” he chuckled, covering his mouth to muffle his voice.

"Son of a bitch!" the hero hissed, sounding winded from his fall. Gabe saw him begin to force himself back onto his feet.

Gabe had already sprinted, once again, to the section of wall that turned into a hidden passage leading up into Ego's lab.

~~

"What?" Ego screamed, his face bright red. Despite being a head shorter than his scaled companion, he had Gabe pinned up against the wall with his forearm pressed up against the taller man’s chest.

"Um, a big-haired superhero almost caught me? No big deal, right?" Gabe chuckled out nervously. If he could sweat, he'd be drenched right now.

"Who?"

"I—I don't know! But he had green and black tights on!" Gabe stuttered out, squirming to get free.

"Hm, sounds like the Troh-Fro to me, Ego," William added, not even looking up from his book. Scenes like this were commonplace in the trio’s shaky alliance, and he was more than used to it by now.

"Y-yeah, him!" Gabe nodded quickly, and offered a pleading smile.

Ego let him go in favor of crossing his arms. He seemed pacified by the answer. "Did he follow you?"

"Well, obviously not—he actually tripped." Gabe snickered at the last bit.

Ego uncrossed his arms and put a hand to his head as if to nurse a headache. "Fine."

"Er...Dr. Ego?" Gabe's voice came out as a scared squeak. Not the reasonable pleading tone he had hoped for, but it would have to do.

"What?"

With the amount of time Ego spent yelling, Gabe wouldn’t be shocked if the guy actually did have a headache.

"Can I, um, maybe have the serum now?" Gabe grinned, eyes big and hopeful. He clasped his hands together eagerly. Even his tail thudded rhythmically against the concrete floor.

Ego stared back at him and let out a long-suffering sigh. "I suppose," he sneered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he walked over to a cabinet and yanked it open.

Gabe jumped up happily and followed Ego before hopping up onto a makeshift counter obediently.

"How cute," Beckett commented to himself, watching as Ego carefully injected a purple-pink liquid into Gabe's huge, scaled arm.

~~

Joe growled, getting up from the hard concrete ground. He looked around in every direction— left, right, up, down, even diagonal—for the reptilian creature. But, to his dismay, he saw nothing.

"Damn it all!" He punched the nearest wall. The noise of the impact rang throughout the entirety of the sewers. "I know you're here, you...you...dinosaur-thing! Get your scaly ass back here!"

The only reply Joe got was his voice echoing a few times before silence consumed the tunnels once again. He sighed, defeated, and began looking for a ladder to take him to the surface. He was going to get nowhere if he continued to pursue this. Besides, he had a meeting in the morning and needed to clean up, especially since the sewer's odour had begun to cling to him.

Joe heard heavy footsteps from behind him and cautiously turned around, a grin now growing on his face. "Oh, I got you now, you son of a bitch." He pressed himself against the opposite wall, ready to jump the dinosaur with a surprise attack. He had a feeling that this creature wasn't going to be easy to catch—obviously, since the thing had escaped from him earlier—but this time, that's not how it was going down, oh no! This time, he would use his secret weapon on the culprit.

He didn't use this “secret weapon” a lot, mostly because sometimes it—or, rather, he—was a bit hard to control. But, he didn't care this time, nor did it matter. The reptilian bastard had to be caught!

"You ready, Stave?" Joe whispered, his eyes looking upward at his hair.

His hair, or “Stave” as he had named it, let out a low growl of approval.

Stave had always been his favorite power, he didn't care if others thought it was weird; he had this strange ability since he was a teen. Don't get him wrong, super speed was awesome too, but he loved his living-fro.

He heard the footsteps get closer, and watched the long, dark shadow approaching his roost. "On the count of three, Stave." His voice was low and barely above a whisper.

Another growl was heard from the mass of hair.

"One, two, three!"

Joe watched as Stave stretched out from his head, growling as it grew longer and formed a gigantic fist of curls.

"WHAT THE HEL—" The shadowed figure shouted in complete surprise.

It was to no avail, as Stave picked him up and slammed him against the wall. The vibrations caused the sewer water to ripple and quake.

"Ha! Take _that_ , you reptilian bastard!"

"Call him off, you idiot! It's me!"

Joe's eyes widened to cartoonish proportions when he recognized the voice. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry at this point.

He had just attacked Andy.

"Damn it, Trohman! It's squeezing the fucking life out of me!" Andy managed to rasp.

"Stave, stop! It's AVM!" Joe exclaimed, his arms waving in the air, frantic.

Stave was about to slam Andy down onto the ground again when it suddenly stopped. It paused before placing Andy with care on the ground, then gave him a tiny pat on the head. Embarrassed, Stave shrunk down to normal size and sat still on Joe's head once again.

"Oh my God, dude, I'm so sorry—I didn't know it was—" Joe stopped to think about all this. He suddenly became angry. "You were following me?"

Andy had a menacing snarl on his face as he glared up at Joe. "You were going into a sewer! I got suspicious and followed, so uh, yeah—no shit, Sherlock!" He got up and brushed himself off. He winced at the tender pain the bruising left from the unexpected beating caused.

Joe was about to retort back, when another, more important, matter crossed his mind. "'Narch. I saw it—I saw our dinosaur!" The smile from ear-to-ear matched perfectly with the tone of his voice.

Andy rolled his eyes so hard that Joe was worried that they'd fall right out. "I know, I saw it too. I was going to say something at that point, but guess who literally left me behind in the dust?" Andy crossed his arms and stared at Joe.

"What was that thing, dude?" Joe's tone was distant, as if his mind were scanning for clues.

Andy opened his mouth to reply, but quickly shut it when nothing came to mind. "I... don't know, Troh," he said after a long, thoughtful silence.

Another awkward silence fell.

The two men stood there, the flow of the dirty river the only noise in the background, as they tried to come up with a reasonable answer.

"Well," Joe said eventually, running a hand through his thick, curly hair, "we could go to Patrick's." His eyes lit up as he began to concoct a plan in his head. "Yeah—yeah! He'll know exactly what to do!" His hands were placed on his hips and he gave a matter-of-fact nod, his face brimming with a grin.

"You sure?" Andy replied.

He always had to find something wrong with Joe's plans—always.

"It's past midnight, Joe, he won't be exactly thrilled to see us at his door."

"Nah, don't worry about it, man!" Joe beamed, slapping his hand on Andy's back. He began leading them both out the tunnels, and back up to fresh, clean air. "You know Patrick, he'll be over it in, like, ten minutes." Joe let out a short laugh.

Andy silently lamented to himself. "Alright," he said with a shrug, "if you insist."

~~

Joe held down the buzzer for as long as he could, just to ensure that Patrick wouldn't sleep through it.

Andy looked around suspiciously. They didn't have time to change, so they were still in costume. As two grown men in colorful tights and masks, they didn't exactly fit the “normal housecall visit” profile.

After standing there for what seemed like forever, Andy finally whispered to his persistent friend, "Dude, he's not here, let's go before someone sees us."

"Hm...let's try again!" Joe shouted with amusement, an arm shooting toward the buzzer once again.

"Joe, don't—" Andy was interrupted by a loud, piercing buzz. He grabbed Joe's hand so he wouldn't hold the button down this time like the annoying dumbass he was. "Way to go, now he's going to be pissed at us!" Andy growled out at him.

Joe only stared, then shrugged with a goofy smile on his face.

The door was flung open, revealing an all-too-sleepy Patrick. His eyes were half closed and his brows furrowed in concentration. “Do you have any idea what _time_ it is?”

Both men turned to stare at their friend, who was wearing nothing but a threadbare sleep shirt, boxers, and fuzzy slippers.

Joe had to snort to conceal his laugh. "You got a pair of pink bunny ones too, or—"

"Look, we know it's late," Andy interrupted Joe before Patrick threw him halfway across the city. "But—"

"Do you guys know the meaning of visiting hours?" Patrick rubbed at his eyes. "It's past midnight, _seriously_."

"I thought visiting hours only applied to hospitals and prisons?"

Patrick shot a death glare at Joe that seemed to penetrate and stab at his very soul.

Andy intervened. "We're sorry, okay? But, we have something super important to tell you!" he said, almost stuttering out his words.

Patrick breathed out a sigh through his nose and moved aside to let his teammates inside. "Come in."

"See, I told you he'd get over it," Joe whispered to Andy smugly.

Andy elbowed him, knowing Patrick had acute hearing.

They both sat down on the lonely couch in Patrick's living room.

Patrick closed and locked his door, then took a seat with his friends. "Okay, what's this big news? And make it quick, I want to go to bed," he said, rubbing away the sleep crumbs from his eyes.

Joe began his tale, trying to summarize it as best as possible.

Patrick's eyes lit up at the mention of the so-called dinosaur, but patiently waited for Joe to finish his story. He sat still for a moment after, his lips pursed. "So...you didn't catch this thing?" he eventually asked, his brows furrowed.

"We probably would've been able to catch him if Joe hadn’t sicced Stave on me!" Andy butted in, glaring at Joe. He was still quite angry about the night's earlier events.

"I said I was sorry!"

"Joseph, if I have internal bleeding because of that thing, I swear I'll—"

"Guys!" Patrick's voice rang out over their arguing.

They stopped abruptly and looked back at him.

"Look, it's great that you have another clue, and we'll discuss this more tomorrow at the base but, seriously," Patrick rubbed his eyes and covered his mouth to hide a yawn, "can you argue somewhere else? I have the early shift tomorrow."

They both blinked at him, unsure as what to say.

"Alright, come on, Joe. Let's let sleeping beauty get his rest."

"Thank you. Good night, you two," Patrick replied, too tired to fight the “sleeping beauty” comment.

"Night, 'Trick!" Joe chirped as Andy ushered him out the door and down the hall.

~~

The next night, the trio decided to try their luck in the sewers a second time.

"Seriously, 'Trick? You have all these kick-ass superpowers and you even can't handle the sewer stench?" Joe laughed as they replaced the manhole cover and dropped one after the other into the infested labyrinth.

"Shut up and go look for clues." Patrick’s face contorted into a grimace as he slowly descended, trying to avoid the germy, brown water.

"Do we split up or what?" Andy asked, crossing his arms. He hated being in this sewer and only did it for the sake of the case.

"Uh, yeah, split up. Yell if you find anything...or if you're overwhelmed by rats." Patrick cringed at just the thought.

Patrick sped down one corridor, while Andy took another and Joe took a third.

~~

"I think I found something!" Joe shouted.

Patrick flew through the tunnels, following the echoes to where Joe was.

They waited several minutes for Andy to catch up, hearing him curse his lack of superpowers once again.

"Look who showed—"

"What did you find?" Andy snapped. He was not in the mood for Joe's shenanigans today.

"This," Joe replied. He held up a pale, dripping wet...thing that resembled sunburned skin.

Andy and Patrick recoiled a tiny bit in disgust.

"What is that?" Patrick asked.

"I don't know, but it really doesn't look like something that'd normally be in a sewer. We should get it back to base."

~~

"What is it?" Andy asked several minutes after the...whatever-it-was had been dissected and put into the analyzer.

Patrick scratched his head, just as clueless as Andy and Joe. "All I know for sure is that it came from a living thing..."

"That thing used to be alive?" Andy asked in disbelief.

The computer dinged and loaded the result. Patrick read the screen silently. "It's...dead skin? But why would that much—"

Another ding and another result.

"Guys, look!" Patrick exclaimed.

Joe and Andy gathered around the computer screen as it flashed “DNA ANALYSIS—ONE DATABASE RESULT.”

“GABRIEL EDUARDO SAPORTA  
BIRTHDATE: 10-11-79  
FILES: 1”

"Open file," Patrick commanded the computer.

They all gasped at what they saw.

Only one document on the screen—a medical file.

"You've gotta be shitting me," Joe muttered as he skimmed over the text. His nose wrinkled as he continued to read. "Do either of you guys understand this shit? All this fancy doctor stuff is gibberish to me."

Patrick sighed. "I can try," he offered, then continued to scan the text. "It says here that Gabriel checked himself in to the ER of City Hospital two years ago with complaints of fever, rapid breathing, and abdominal pains. Tests confirmed low level of oxygen in the blood, low blood cell counts, and a swollen pancreas. He was diagnosed with a form of leukemia," he explained, his eyes moving left to right and flicking back to left as he read.

"He was admitted to the hospital later that day and..." Patrick paused, rereading the information several times before finally grasping it. "...And he signed himself up for some form of chemotherapy that was still being tested, which used some sort of snake venom as one of the main ingredients. According to this it worked, and all of the cancerous cells in his body disappeared after only three treatments, but he showed some odd symptoms upon recovery." He continued, stopping only to switch the view onto the next page of the report.

"Severe rashes, fatigue, and sharp pains in the gums, jaw, neck, and tailbone. He filed for release soon after—the hospital wouldn't grant it, but later that day when one of the nurses had come to check up on him, his room was empty." Patrick sighed, not sure whether to be relieved that this Gabriel had no criminal history, or be worried that this “miracle treatment” he had been given may have turned him into some sort of mutant.

"So the guy's kind of like Spider-Man, then," Joe said to himself, his head cocked to the side as he tried to absorb all the new information.

Andy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Joe, Spider-Man didn't actually turn into a spider, he was way cooler than that—"

"Stop it, you two," Patrick huffed, standing up with a hand to his head, "I'm not in the mood for comic book debates right now, okay? Let's just go home and we'll discuss this back here tomorrow, deal?"

"Good, because I definitely need a shower," Andy grimaced, now noticing the god-awful smell.

Joe snorted, "Man, you two are major wimps. I know for sure that I'm not showering; I'm going straight to bed—!" Stave growled defiantly and rustled aggressively. 

"Three against one, Joe," Andy spoke in a mocking tone, smirking at his younger (and smellier) friend.

"Fine!" Joe threw his arms in the air, exasperated. "But you won't hear the end of this." He shook his finger.

"Yeah," Patrick sighed, "We never do..."


	4. The One Where Absolutely Nothing Happens (But You Should Still Read It Anyways)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fall Out Avengers have some time wind down and reflect on the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is approximately 50% flashback, and for that I apologize.
> 
> And, as always, thanks to [Syrupwit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/profile) for beta-ing!

Patrick's alarm buzzed as he woke up.

"Nng... a’right already," he mumbled, fumbling around for the top of the alarm clock and finally shutting it off.

He slowly sat up in bed, and rubbed at his eyes. "What time is it...?"

He looked at the clock, which blinked **8:48 am** back at him.

"Son of a- _crap_!" Before he knew it, he had already thrown the covers off and was at his closet, picking and searching for his work uniform. After succeeding in retrieving the uniform, he fumbled out of his pajamas and tossed it on. A few more minutes later, he was found in the kitchen, grabbing a bagel from the fridge, slapping cream cheese on it. He then dashed out the door towards his car, jammed the key in the ignition, then buckled in as he barreled out of the parking lot.

Patrick seemed to hit every red light on the way to work. "Come on, come on, light, please!" He tried his best to have faith in luck that the light would change. He hoped the harder he prayed, the faster the light would change. He squeezed the steering wheel in absolute frustration, nearly breaking the poor thing, before giving up; the stoplight refused to change. Patrick hastily fixed his hair in the rear view mirror, finally accepting that the traffic light wouldn't bend to his will.

What felt like hours later, Patrick arrived at work. His car screeched into a parking space. He flung the door open—nearly breaking it off its hinges—and dashed haphazardly towards the front doors of Blind Tiger, already fifteen minutes too late.

His boss was waiting at his register, at the front. "Mr. Stump..." she said. "In the back, now."

Patrick sighed deeply, knowing what was about to happen. He slunk back behind her, shuffling along to her office. Her heels clicked in a loud rhythm on the carpet, causing Patrick's stress level to shoot up.

In her office, he sat down in a chair, facing her desk.

"Stump…" she began, hands folded under her chin. "You have been late almost every day for the past month." Her eyes stared straight at him.

Patrick squirmed in his chair, not wanting to return her gaze.

"Is there any reason why you have been late, Mr. Stump?" Her voice pulled him out of his melancholy trance.

He mulled over his thoughts.

There was a perfectly good explanation for everything—the tardiness, the mood swings, even leaving early for “emergencies”. But all that led to him revealing his secret identity, so that was out of the question entirely. _How the hell did Superman put up with all this?_

Patrick shook his head, "I don't know," he answered, hushed.

His boss exhaled. "Patrick,” she said in a soothing tone, which threw him off. She never called him by his first name, and _Why hasn't she fired me yet? Just do it and get it over with, please don't make me sit here and endure thi—_ “I like you, I think you're a hard worker—” That surprised him. “—but I'm also your boss. It's my job to make sure all the customers are, of course, happy, and that the store is in tip-top shape. But it’s also my job to make sure my employees are happy.”

Patrick looked down and nodded solemnly to himself, like a guilty child.

“I understand if what you're going through is personal—we all have problems. However, I do have a store to run here and it is in my top priority to make sure everything runs smooth. You understand, don't you?”

Patrick nodded again, giving a quiet, “Yes ma'am” in response.

She nodded as well. “Very well. Patrick, you're a good employee, so I'm giving you another chance.” -Patrick felt a ton of weight lifted off his shoulders. “And next time you know you're going to be late, as long as it's an emergency, please... call me ahead of time.”

And with that, Patrick was excused. As soon as he closed the door to her office, he leaned against the wall and took a moment to breathe. _Perhaps luck is on my side after all_ , he thought to himself, as he walked to his station and clocked in. He began cleaning up his area to make it nice and spotless for the customers.

~~

After a long day of work, Patrick found himself alone in his car with his thoughts, as he usually did. But, these were thoughts he did not want at the moment. He grunted out a sigh, trying to keep himself from spacing out into his memories.

“Come on,” he mumbled to himself, “I finally started having a better outlook today.”

But it was to no avail. Patrick started to remember his past—especially how he had landed such a low, minimum wage job. Not that it was bad, it was just— _Not as good as my parents had hoped me to be. Not that I want to be what they want_.

He began remembering how his parents, classified as high middle class, had always thought highly of themselves. They had everything, even if it wasn't in their budget. They were high maintenance, as some would label, but Patrick had never fit in with them. He was always grateful for what he had, and what he got, he even gave away to others—which his parents had always gotten mad at him for, because it was “wasteful.” He just wanted to help people, and that's why he was here today.

He started to remember the exact day he decided to become a superhero.

~~

 

" _Who is this?!_ ” Patrick's father shouted behind gritted teeth. There was a stranger in his house, and he was not happy at all.

"I-it's a friend of mine!" Patrick went and stood in front of the girl in question in a protective manner.

"Patrick, I found this girl bathing in _our_ shower. Tell me who this is. Right now." his mother demanded, arms crossed over her chest.

Patrick looked back at the terrified girl and sighed. "This…is Heather. She's homeless."

"Is this another one of your _strays_?" His father scoffed.

"Don't you talk about her like she's an animal; she's a human being—"

"Why should we listen to you?” His mother glared, sternly, “You continually bring strangers into our home; it's not our problem if she's homeless, we have our own lives to worry about. Why can’t you be more like us—"

"Because I don't want to be greedy a-and _heartless_ like you both!"

This set something off in his mother. He could still clearly remember how harshly she had slapped him across the face, tears rolling down her cheeks. Patrick felt guilty, but not enough. He meant what he had said, and had never taken it back—not even to this day.

"If you like to be around garbage, you can live with the garbage— _outside_." his father growled.

Patrick gasped, completely taken aback at what his father had just said. "You can't be serious! —Because I want to help others? You two are so damn ridiculous." He felt his eyes burning with hot tears. “You only care about your stupid selves, and you won't even let me use or practice my powers! Am I too _weird_ for you? Is that it?!”

"All we ever wanted was a normal son... and all we got was you." Patrick's eyes widened as he felt his heart rip into pieces in his chest.

“M-mom...” his voice choked.

"We are not your parents anymore. Now leave before we have you escorted off the premises."

Patrick just stood there, his shoulders shaking anxiously. He turned to look at Heather, who was looking away shamefully. He grabbed her hand gently, giving a reassuring smile the best he could. "Let's go…"

Patrick stopped to look his father in the eye one last time. The sternness on his face refused to abate.  
Patrick glanced down at the ground before turning away. He rested his hand on Heather's shoulders, leaving the gates to his home for good.

They walked down the cold city street; Patrick had given his jacket to Heather, as he searched the darkness for a homeless shelter.

"There." He pointed at a building, the light illuminating the street surrounding it in a welcoming manner. "We can stay there." He smiled, earning a tiny one from her in return.

"Thank you," she said to him as they headed towards the building.

When they reached inside their safe haven, disappointment rang across their faces. The place was packed up tight. Patrick and Heather frowned as a caretaker walked up to them, dismay in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she spoke apologetically. "But we only have room for one more…"

Patrick looked at Heather, who was staring at the ground, trying to hide the tears welling in her eyes. He bit his lip and returned his gaze to the other woman.

"Take her," he said. Heather looked up in shock, "She needs this more than I do. I'll find… somewhere else."

The woman gave him a nod and a smile, then walked away to prepare a room for Heather.

Patrick sighed. _Wherever “somewhere” is._ He turned to leave, knowing Heather would be in good hands. Instead, he was held back by a gentle frame wrapping their arms around him. It was Heather; she buried her face into his shirt. His body shifted back around, his eyes peering down at her, as she looked up, teary-eyed.

"Thank you, Patrick." Heather murmured, "You've done so much for me, I wish there was a way I could repay you."

Patrick shook his head and smiled at her, "No need– just, doing my job…"

~~

Patrick presently found himself pulling up to the apartments and stared through his windshield, absorbed in the memories of his past. The more he thought about it though, the more he concluded the facts. If he was never kicked out in the first place, he would've never ended up at the park, sleeping on a bench. Joe would've never found him there and given him a home, a life and a job.

"Maybe Joe can talk to my boss...he is the owner," he spoke, breaking himself out of his thoughts. He breathed out a sigh and walked up the steps to his floor. After entering his apartment, he walked to his room, immediately plopping down into his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, as he grimaced, still thinking about his parents, almost losing his job, this new criminal—everything.

_"Thank you for everything you've done…"_ he heard Heather say in his head again. Patrick found himself smiling in gratification.

But then again, life could have been worse.

~~

Joe strolled up to the sidewalk of his parents’ cozy suburban home. He always came around to visit on stressful missions like this; his parents were always supportive of him and his team, and acted as a safe haven for all three of them. His folks told them they were always welcome to drop by for a visit to unwind.

And considering seeing that weird... lizard thing, roaming around in the sewers last night, he figured it was high time he visited his family. Just for a short while, to get his mind off all the craziness.

"Hey mom, I'm here!" he called as he walked inside the house.

His mother peeked out from behind the kitchen entranced and smiled warmly. "Hello Joseph, dinner's almost ready. Take a seat, honey!"

Joe grinned at her and plopped down onto the chocolate-leather couch. He let out a long, exhausted sigh and leaned back against the cushions in relaxation. He found his eyes closing as he listened to the TV. He wasn't too sure what was on, it was just nice to have some background noise while unwinding and—

" _Jo-o-o-oey!_ " A loud, war-like cry was heard from behind him.

He jumped up from the couch, instincts taking over, his body and mind on the alert.  
He felt some breath rush out of his gut, from being tackled to the floor, by his younger brother. Joe grinned, scoffing out a laugh.

"Haha—defeated brother!" The younger sibling stood triumphant over Joe, with a mocking evil laugh.

"That's what you think, _Sammy._ " Joe grinned as he got up from the couch.

Sam let out a small shriek, as Stave had picked up Sam by the ankles, giving the younger boy a short, playful growl. Sam was now caught up in hair and a fit of laughter.

"Prepare to be...annihilated!" Joe cackled as Sam dangled in mid-air.

"In your dreams, _TrohFro_."

"I know what you are, _but what am I_?"

"...That doesn't make any sense!"

"Like yo’ **_mama_**!"

"She's your mom too!"

"Hey, how did you sneak up on me so fast?"

Sam's smile turned into a worried frown. He looked away from Joe's eyes and his cheeks burned a deep red. "I uh...well, you see..." Sam stammered as Joe stared curiously at him now. "Er....Hey, where's Patrick?" was the only answer Joe received.

Joe rolled his eyes and had Stave set his brother down on the couch and retreat back to Joe's head.

"He's at his house, I assume. Why? You don't want to see me? I'm way more awesome than he is!"

"Nothing! He's just...fun."

Joe snorted in quiet laughter. _Patrick, fun. Ha._

Their father overheard their conversation as he walked down the stairs.

"He juggled _all_ our living room furniture last time he was here—"

"—Along with you!" His mother chimed in, giving Sam the all too familiar ‘stern-mother gaze’.

"Exactly!" Sam exclaimed in exasperation.

Their father only shook his head and mumbled to himself, making his way into the kitchen.

Sam crossed his arms, pouting slightly.

"Next time, kiddo, I promise." Joe smiled, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Now," he continued, "you didn't answer my question...?"

Sam's eyes suddenly widened and he smiled sheepishly at Joe.

"I've...actually been meaning to talk to you about it. I just didn't know how or when to tell you..."

Joe sat down next to his brother with great concern in his eyes. "What's up, lil' bro?"

Joe looked on, concerned, at his little brother, who began fiddling with his shirt.

Sam stammered, "Well...you see I uh...I have su-"

" _Joseph!_ " They were both interrupted by their mother shouting. She sounded angry, this was not going to end well. “The anchorman on TV just announced that you were roaming around in the _filthy_ sewers! Now why on earth would you go and do a crazy stunt like that?” she was very displeased at the moment.

"I hate the television in the kitchen..." Joe grumbled, then shouted to his mom from the couch, "That lizard...thing, lives down there—I think."

"The sewers are infested with rats and _disease_!"

Joe groaned out an irritated sigh and got up to go into the kitchen, to try and reason with his mother. "I had to, mom! The life of all the city folk depended on it! ...Besides, Andy was there too. He had my back—"

" _He was there too?!_ "

Sam sighed quietly to himself and looked at the floor, as his brother was nagged by their mother. The corners of his mouth twitched.

"It’s okay, Sam," he mumbled to himself. "You'll get the courage to tell him…one day."

~~

Andy exhaled out through his nose as he stared absentminded into the soapy murkiness of the diner's huge sink. Usually he was the head chef of his vegan restaurant, Vintage Paradise. Today, though, he was on dish duty—the bus boy had called in sick to work. He was usually more upbeat at work, but today was different. He couldn't stop thinking about the untraceable psychopath who was running around, causing mayhem and havoc.

He found himself, in spite, scrubbing a plate too hard with the steel wool, etching scratches and large abrasions into it. He immediately stopped and set it aside.

_This guy is going to drive me insane!_ he thought to himself, trying not to draw attention from the cook on the other side of the kitchen. Andy then proceeded to put the thought aside and plucked up another dirty plate, this time making sure not to mutilate it like he had the last. He did his best to concentrate on the task at hand, not only ignoring thoughts of his other job, but also the fact his hands were pruning to the point of numbness.

As hard as he tried, it failed; the news report kept running circles through his head. He began to let his mind wander to keep himself distracted.

~~

"I don't know when your father's going to be home, dear."

Twelve-year-old Andy just sighed at his mother. "He promised we could have dinner together tonight."

"I know, but you know how busy he is with his jobs."

"Why does he even play poker with those guys if he knows he's going to add on to his debts?”

"Andrew, you will speak no more of this. Not to me or to him."

The doorbell rang, interrupting the conversation, to Andy’s dismay. But at the same time, he felt quiet relief. “It’s probably him,” Andy stated as he got up out of the dining room chair. He shuffled to the door, and the doorbell chimed again, this time louder, earning a groan from the young teen. He began to unlock the door, “Hold on, dad! Geez, you’re impatient toni—“

He stopped dead in his tracks after he swung the door open.

It wasn’t his father; rather, it was two solemn police officers, their eyes mournful and downcast. “Son, is your mother home?” One of them finally asked, as he took off his hat, holding it in front of his chest out of respect. “We…we have some terrible news.”

That was the day when Andy’s entire life was twisted around for the worse.

His father had been shot in cold blood as he exited the casino. The only lead they had was a black Camaro and a garbled license plate no one seemed to catch. Suspicion led to the city’s top mob at the time, since his father had racked up an outrageous debt with them—a debt that he had never even come close to paying off.

Andy quickly remembered the day he picked up his father’s archery set. Before his dad’s gambling addiction, he had taught Andy how to shoot and aim. _”Better to learn this now!”_ his father explained.

Andy remembered how impressed his dad had been: _”Great aim, son!”_ he had congratulated his boy, with a pat on the shoulder and a playful shake, _”You’re a natural, just like your old man.”_ Andy had grinned wide as his dad gave him a wink and smile.

God, how he missed his dad’s smile. He missed everything about him.

Andrew decided he would have his dad’s name live on. For the next ten years, he practiced every day and never quit, the idea never crossing his mind. He worked on his aim, arm strength, leg strength, even learning how to build arrows from scratch—Andy only got better and better with every arrow shot. _He had to,_ he thought, _-Especially if he was going to avenge his father’s death_.  
He swore no one would ever go through what he did—no one would ever lose a loved one due to any sort of criminal scum.

Finally, when Andy was in about his late twenties, he hunted the man down—the one who had murdered his father. He did extensive research, even managing to hack into the police station’s files. The police announced the cold case “dead”. They had found the suspect, the man they knew was the mob leader, but didn’t have sufficient evidence on him.

Andy remembered being there with his hysterical, sobbing mother in the courtroom as the judge announced the unknown killer “not guilty”. It drove Andy up the wall. He glared as the mob-man walked past him, not sparing the young boy a single glance. He walked out a free man—no justice served.

_Never again._

Andy was now perched on the rooftop of a building; it was night and he wore dark clothes, the same ones he had worn today. He watched silently, waiting for his target to exit his regular eatery. After he had found the perpetrator, he watched him silently, tracking his every move for nearly a month. Finally, it was time to receive payback for his father. The day had finally come after all those years of intense training, practice, and investigation: his dad would be avenged, and Andy would have no guilt or regret—no one would ever catch him.

There was a hitch in his breath and his heart thumped swiftly against his chest. His lips curled in an expression of pure concentration as he lifted his bow- loaded and ready to kill the criminal. He pulled back on the bowstring; it groaned silently as it stretched back. With his impeccable aim, he targeted the man’s head. _”Enjoy damnation in hell, dirtbag,”_ Andy spoke through his teeth.  
He went to release and—

**BAM!** Andy felt the wind knocked out of him as he was tackled against a wall, arms in restraint above his head.

SuperTrick glared darkly at him.

“What are you _doing_?” Andy hissed at the yellow and red clad superhero. “Do you see I’m busy trying to take down criminal scum?” he growled through gritted teeth.

SuperTrick shook his head. “I can’t let you hurt an old man. The only criminal here is _you_.”

Andy, taken aback, was stunned, but flashed back to hatred in seconds.

“That man _killed_ my father and got away with it!” Andy shook off the hero, who had loosened his grip on him. “He’s gotten away with crime for nearly fifteen years. Today will be his last-“

“Before you shoot, look at him- and I mean, _really_ look at him.” SuperTrick, grabbed Andy’s shoulder and guided him to the edge of the roof.

Andy grimaced with disgust, but complied. He stared at the man, who was now bathed in light under a street lamp. He swallowed a lump in his throat, as realization hit him hard in the face.

The mob leader’s face was covered in wrinkles and exhaustion. His tired eyes stared out at the street as he frailly clutched to his cane. His hair, once brunette and slicked back, was now gray, messy, and thin, showing off the deep lines on his forehead as well as the droopy skin hanging down from his face. The man coughed, grunting painfully, as he turned to hobble down the street and out of sight.

“You almost murdered an old man,” SuperTrick shocked Andy out of his thoughts. “His time will be up soon enough.” SuperTrick sighed and shook his head. “He has hundreds of dead men and women on his conscience—do you want that as well?”

_If it hadn’t been for SuperTrick_ Andy thought somberly, _I could have very well have…_

A tiny smile cracked at the corner of his lips. After that he had sworn he would fight crime with justice, not vengeance. Soon after, he had become the third member of the Fall Out Avengers. If his father had been alive today, he would’ve been proud.

~~

"Hey, Mr. Hurley!" A voice boomed from across the kitchen.

Andy shook out of his thoughts and turned to see Donnie staring at him, perplexed.

"Sorry to disturb you from your thinkin', but... have you seen the extra spatula?"

Andy pondered its whereabouts before snapping a finger in gratification. He then dunked his entire arm into the soapy, lukewarm water and dug around. He grinned when his hand grazed over the handle, and he plucked it out of the water.

"Just a sec!" he told his cook as he scrubbed and cleaned the spatula to shiny perfection. He dried it off with a hand towel and turned to the other man.

"Catch!" he yelled to Donnie, tossing the spatula at him without warning.

Donnie yelped out a deep cry as he ducked his head down just in time, as the spatula grazed his head, knocking his hairnet clean off.

"Holy shit!" Donnie hissed as his head and hands peered over the edge of the island counter, gripped tightly.

Andy grew quiet as he stared at the spatula, now sticking out of the wall.

The hairnet clung onto the spatula's head, hanging on for dear life.

Andy was quiet, before he began howling with laughter. 

Donnie, with fear in his eyes, saw the reason for the laughter from his boss. He nearly fainted with the thought of his head being shaved clean off by such a simple kitchen utensil.

"What are you boys doing back here?" They saw Tiffany, a waitress, peer worriedly into the kitchen.

Andy was laughing far too hard at this point to answer her clearly, as was Donnie, who was busy trying to tug the spatula out of the wall.

She stared at them in disbelief. "I'm...not even going to ask," she stated as she placed more dirty dishes in the sink, then walked over and helped the poor cook extract the utensil from the wall.

She shook her head at her still-sniggering boss and stood at the kitchen doors now. "Guys, we got customers, let’s be serious, okay?" She pressed her palm to her forehead, "Especially you, oh 'Lord and Master of this Eatery'."

Andrew stopped abruptly and cleared his throat with a nod before going back to doing the dishes. "Yes, ma’am," he said with a small, sarcastic salute, earning a short laugh from Tiffany.

"Oh, and Mr. Hurley?"

"Yes?"

"Please, don’t accidentally murder our cook." Tiffany shook her head, then left, walking towards a table to wait on.

Andrew couldn't help but smile, even when he picked up the grimiest dish of the bunch and began scrubbing. He absolutely loved his job.


	5. It's Okay to Break the Law When You're Wearing Spandex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some questions are answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props again to [Syrupwit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit) for the beta work!
> 
> -CC

Beckett sat in the lone arm chair and toyed with his pocket knife while he observed Ego tinkering at his work table.

He was working on what he believed to be the final piece to his war machine. It had taken almost two years for Ego's “greatest creation infamously known to man”, as the older man stated on a daily basis, to come to fruition.

But Beckett did not care. He was actually quite bored, just sitting...watching, and waiting for something—anything—to happen. He told himself he’d have to go out for a book run soon.

So far, nothing extraordinary was happening. The random clanking of loose parts on the table or occasional creaks and groans from the old tools Ego used were the only sounds in the room.

Beckett yawned loudly, covering his mouth with his hand to hide his fangs.

"If I would've known it was going to take this long to build the machine, I probably could've stopped myself from being so bored," Gabe complained under his breath.

Beckett couldn't help but grin and hold back a chuckle. "I’ll have to agree with you on that one, friend."

Gabe's eyes lit up at the word “friend”—but his happy moment was soon interrupted by a deafening **clang** coming from the work table.

"If you two are _so damn bored_ , why don't you get off your asses and _help me_?" Ego snarled, his hand balled into a very tight fist around a wrench.

"Easy, _Napoleon_. I’m providing moral support, and Gabe—" Beckett stopped to pause and think, "is...just being Gabe. Besides, I've helped enough," Beckett said with a simple shrug and a tiny smirk.

"You erased our files from the computer, _great job_ —so damn proud of ya!" Ego's voice dripped with acidic sarcasm. "But _William_ , aren't we supposed to be working _together_?"

Beckett pondered this. "Let me think on this, and I'll be right there," he replied with a wink and a click of his tongue, giving Ego a warm-hearted smile.

Ego knew his accomplice was only trying to “kill him with kindness” as they used to say, so he went back to his work, grumbling to himself the rest of the time.

"So…does this mean we're a team now?" Gabe chirped in, breaking the long, awkward silence.

"Hm, I suppose it does," Beckett replied.

Gabe's smile grew a mile and a half wide.

~~

"No. Guys, I’m not doing this! Do you know how _illegal_ this is? How ruined our image would be if we were caught?" Patrick paced in front of the city's hospital, wringing his hands.

Andy and Joe stared. They were not sure what to say about Patrick's disagreement... _and stubbornness_.

"We... we can’t _do_ this!" Patrick shook his head in disbelief.

"Well, ‘Trick," Joe finally answered, "how else do you propose we get into the hospital's medical records?" He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at him. He hid his triumphant smile by biting his cheek.

"But _guys_ ," Patrick began.

Andy and Joe both groaned in unison.

"Posing as college students and _forging a warrant_ for a fake project is wrong!" Patrick accompanied his point with exaggerated arm movements, as if it would help his friends see the light. "It goes against almost every law, and I honestly don't feel okay with doing such an dishonest act—"

" _Patrick_ ," Andy interrupted, gaining his friend’s full attention. "I know it's wrong, but, please—just for once—do it _our_ way," he continued, motioning to himself and Joe, who nodded alongside him.

Patrick let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "You know vigilante justice is also wrong..."

"Yeah? And _law abiding superheroism_ gets you nowhere," Andy retorted.

Patrick fell silent.

"Now, you in...or out?"

Patrick ran a hand through his hair to think. He then breathed out a sigh. "Yeah, I guess," he said.

His vigilante friends both pumped a fist into the air, whooping and hollering.

"But just this once!" Patrick warned, looking at them both with a stern gaze.

~~

The Chief of Medicine flipped through the warrant silently. The three “students” waited in awkward silence.

Andy and Joe were calm and collected with their hands folded in their laps.

Patrick, on the other hand, was nervous, a damp sweat collecting on his forehead. He couldn't stop picking at the loose string on the hem of his shirt; he needed something to keep his hands occupied when he got stressed.

Andy prayed the Chief wouldn't notice Patrick acting strangely. 

"Well, boys," the Chief started, "this all looks pretty legitimate."

Patrick couldn't help but finally let out a breath of air -- which, he might add, that he had been holding for far too long.

"It looks like these give you access to every computer file on every medical patient ever enrolled here. But first, I would like you to sign these documents saying—well, basically: 'Whatever is said in the classroom _stays_ in the classroom'," he said, chuckling. He then slid the agreement towards them.

"No problem, sir," Andy grinned. He and Joe then signed the document, and the Chief smiled at them happily.

He looked up at Patrick.

"Mr. Stump?" he gestured to the document with a loom of question.

Patrick snapped out of his thoughts. "S-sorry, sir," he mumbled. He then signed the document with shaking hands.

The Chief, thankfully, didn't notice this. He looked up at the boys. "Well, let's get you boys started," he stated with a smile. He then plopped down in his huge, rolling chair and pushed himself toward the computer desk.

The boys waited while the man silently typed with quick fingers on the keyboard (and also whistled a _very_ old song, from almost a century ago, to himself) for about five minutes.

"Alright, here ya go!" he said as he clicked a final key, then pushed himself up and out of his seat.

"I have things to do and places to go, but if you can't find what you need on the database, there's back-up files on this." He tossed a flash drive to them.

Joe gracefully caught it without any doubletakes or surprise.

The Chief cocked his head back, then let out a whistle of approval. "Nice catch." With that, he closed the door behind him, and the boys began their work.

~~

"Found him!" Patrick shouted at his two friends, who were currently napping on some couches in the huge office.

They both blinked their eyes open.

Joe yawned and stretched while Andy walked over to Patrick. "What's it say?"

"Basically the same shit we found," Patrick said, quickly scanning through the file.

"Great, all this for nothing." Joe rolled his eyes and leaned his head back in annoyance.

"Maybe not," Patrick spoke, after a few moments of browsing other files on the USB.

The others perked up at this.

Joe ran to Patrick's side in literally less than a second. "What is it?" he asked, his voice filled to the brim with excitement.

"Well," Patrick started, a bit of uneasiness in his voice, "Apparently, he's not the only patient we've seen before."

"Jeez," Joe said, "these crazies really cash in on free health care, don't they?"

Patrick rolled his eyes. " _Anyways_ ," he continued, ignoring Joe's commentary. "This “certain person” may bring back some -- er… _memories_ ," he said, casting a worried glance at Andy, who only raised one eyebrow.

Andy leaned in toward the screen to get a better look. "Well, who is it?" He asked.

Patrick sighed and continued. "Peter Wentz. The college professor that lost an eye to one of Andy’s arrows."

Andy's eyes grew large as he stared off, distant and fearful.

"He was brought here to get his left eye completely removed. The arrow—"

"—Penetrated, causing permanent eye damage and minor brain injury," Andy spoke out softly. He knew what happened all too well- considering that he was the cause of it. He plopped down on one of the couches, eyes and mind still elsewhere. "I never forgave myself for that," he mumbled, after a long agonizing silence. He buried his head in his hands as his thoughts ran wild through his brain.

Joe and Patrick exchanged glances of concern; they weren't sure what to do or say.

"The gunner has to be him, then," Andy said, to no one in particular. "This isn't coincidence, he must be working with the snake-man."

The others still remained silent, considering all this.

"Well, they have an old address for him... Should we go check it out?" Patrick suggested. He knew how painful this was for Andy.

Andy had just finally forgotten about it; he had pushed it to the back of his mind, and had thought it would not resurface for the rest of his life. Yet, here it was again, re-haunting his subconscious and wracking his brain with those horrible thoughts and images. But this had to be done; they all knew it.

Andy was silent. He rubbed at his face as if it were going to get rid of his thoughts and feelings of guilt. He finally looked back up at his friends. "Yeah. Let's—Let's go."

~~

"It’s official—I am _so_ buying a frickin' motorcycle!"

"Aw, what's wrong A.V.? Can't keep up with us guys who have _real_ powers?"

"Shut it, ‘Fro."

Patrick sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand. "Guys, seriously? Stop fighting, we don't have all night for this!"

"Easy for you to say, you can fly," Andy scoffed, panting between breaths as he struggled to keep up with his friends’ ridiculous pace.

They all arrived at Peter Wentz’s house. 

Right now, things were looking up for them. And maybe, just maybe, this mystery would be solved faster than they had originally hoped.

Even though they wanted to solve it as quickly as possible, inside they were all worried about one thing.

Did they really want to find out what was being planned?

They all stopped and stared at the old two story house upon arrival.

"Hey, um...is this the right place?" Joe asked in an unsure tone. He stared at the house's unkempt lawn and worn down exterior.

Patrick looked down at the address jotted down on the piece of paper in his hand, then back up at the house numbers. "I'm… positive. This _is_ the address," he said. He was not quite sure what to think of the place.

"It doesn't look right," Andy commented. "I mean, the grass is way overgrown, the leaves are everywhere, and the all the paint is chipping and peeling off, but… it still doesn't exactly scream “evil headquarters”," he said, watching the bigger chunks of paint flap endlessly in the small wind.

"Well, it might be a trick so people don't think to check here," Patrick retorted. "We won't know until we go inside."

The three of them, all in different ways, managed to make it through the ten-foot tall grass and stalked up to the front door.

Andy clasped the door handle and tugged hard. When it wouldn't open he began shaking, and pulling hard on the door. "Great, it's locked," he commented, finally stopping his fierce strangling upon the door.

"I'll get it," Patrick said listlessly. With one hand he grabbed the handle and then, with a tiny pull of his arm, tore the handle—locks and all—clean off the door. Patrick smiled at his friends and tossed the handle aside. He pushed in the door—it opened with a loud creak and grinding noise—then walked inside ahead of them.

"Show off," Joe scoffed, before slinking on inside after his friends. He closed the front door (though that really didn't matter anymore) and followed his friends in the middle of the foyer.

"Joe, you take upstairs," Patrick commanded, when Joe had caught up with them. "Andy, you look downstairs—and I'll take the main level. Everyone good to go?"

They all nodded.

The three heroes then ran off toward their destinations and began searching the huge, dirty, abandoned house.

"Yo, Patrick! You find anything? Because the upstairs is _completely_ deserted- I mean, there’s nothing but the paint on the walls!"

Patrick sighed. "Same here, Troh!" he yelled back. He couldn't help but grimace as yet again, another cobweb clung onto his glove. 

"Obviously no one's cleaned up this place in years, either," he mumbled, as another pound of dust came flying off an old, torn-up book that he had wiped the cobweb onto.

More dust kicked up around him and all about the room in a tiny tornado as Joe rushed in through the door. They both coughed and gagged as the dust slowly started to disperse.

"Dude!"

"Sorry, keep forgetting!" Joe apologized. He waited for the dust to leave his lungs before speaking again, "But we obviously have the wrong place-"

"We _can’t_! I double checked the address at least a hundred times!"

"Well obviously not, _’cause he’s not here_ -"

"Guys! You have to see this! Come down here now!" They heard their distant friend call out to them.

They immediately flew down the stairs to where Andy was and gasped. Their jaws dropped to the ground at the sight of what he had found: a hidden lab in the basement.

"Told you this was the right place," Patrick sneered at Joe.

"Wh-what the hell _is_ all this?" Joe finally managed to say.

They began searching and looking at every spare machine part, screwdriver and nail they found lying around.

"Whoa, what is _this_?"

They all ran to Patrick's side. They stared at the giant blueprint in his hands.

"It sorta looks like…a giant tank?" Patrick said, answering his own question.

They all stared, studying the many calculations, symbols, and words spread all over the huge page.

"Biggest tank I've ever seen, that's for sure," Andy commented.

"Well, we obviously have the right place, but he must've moved his work to a different location. Which would explain why this place is abandoned," Patrick confirmed, giving himself a few nods.

"Let's go back to base and investigate on this more," Andy said.

"Right, let's go—"

"Wait, guys! I found something else!"

They all turned in Joe's direction.

He bent down to pick up what looked like a piece of tinted glass, but thinner, frailer, and brown in color.

"Does this seem familiar to you guys?" Joe asked, a bit of confidence in his voice.

His two friends exchanged glances.

Patrick leaned in to better study the glassy object. "No way," he said to himself in disbelief.

The other two looked at him, already knowing what it was.

"It's a scale like the ones we found in the tunnels, which can only mean one thing—" Patrick started.

"—Snake man must be working for Peter," Andy finished.


	6. Remember the Alamo? (It's Been Blown to Smithereens)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ego finally reveals his big plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to [Syrupwit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit) for the beta work!
> 
> And... don't ask about Gabe's "preferences", for everyone's sake.
> 
> -CC

" _It is time_!" The walls echoed as Dr. Ego laughed maniacally.

"Time for _what_?" Beckett asked, annoyed. "And don't scream like that, I have a headache," he added, rubbing his temples for emphasis.

"What I've been working on for the past two fucking _years_ , dumbass! The _tank_? The first thing I'm testing is the homing device and the missile launcher," Ego retorted, making small adjustments to the launching software as he spoke.

"Well, just _do_ it so we can get on with world domination," Beckett said nonchalantly, "or whatever your dumb plan was."

Ego rolled his eyes and connected the tank's computer to his own laptop. The sounds of data exchange soon rang throughout the base.

"Files ready."

Both computers whirred loudly, as if they were resisting the bulk transfer.

"Now locking on target."

Finally, a cheerful jingle sounded as the software booted up on Ego’s laptop.

"Target lock—"

"Serpent! _What_ did I tell you about imitating the computer's voice?"

"But it's so sexy!" Gabe whined. "Besides, not like you let me _do_ anything around here!"

"Does it look like I care? _Stop. It._ "

Gabe sighed and slunk back to his chair.

Ego returned his attention to the computer, which continued to chime with every key pressed.

"Preparing to fire miss—"

"One more word and it's the wrench again," Ego said, between gritted teeth, as he grasped for his favourite monkey wrench.

"Can I at _least_ say 'launch'?"

" _No_ , damn it!"

" _Pendejo_ ," Gabe muttered, eying the tool warily.

Ego raised the wrench in warning, prompting a loud hiss from Gabe.

"Do not speak again!" Ego yelled.

The room fell into silence.

"Launching," Gabe whispered in a tiny voice. Before he could even react, the wrench Ego promised made a dull **thud** against his head. "Ouch, son of a bitch!" Gabe hissed.

"I told you to shut your face, you scaly fuck!" Ego slammed the computer on the table beside him and stormed over to Gabe, winding up and throwing a punch immediately.

They rolled around on the floor, throwing punches and kicks; there was even a stray bite or two from Ego.

"Oh, for the love of—" Beckett muttered in exasperation. He walked in his gliding manner over to the computer and typed in the launch sequence. Out of the corner of his eye, the television screen showed a large explosion, followed by the sounds of alarms and screaming D.C. citizens.

_I didn't type the launch sequence_ , Ego thought.

" _Beckett_!" Ego bellowed, his face red. His nostrils flaring and he was nearly foaming at the mouth.

"I _said_ don't yell at me! Now what do you want?"

"Did you just fire _my_ rocket? You _know_ that it was my job! Goddammit, William, I'll shoot your fucking head right—"

"Oh, shut up," Beckett said with a roll of his eyes. He glared straight at the “brains” of the whole operation, his hip cocked in defiance. "If you're going to throw a tantrum, at least go to your room and let a man deal with this—" Ego balled his hands into tight, white-knuckled fists, and the vein in his neck looked like it was about to burst. Beckett continued, "If you weren't so busy arguing, you could've done it yourself. Grow up."

Ego turned to Gabe, the look of fury rising.

"You should've let me do the damn computer voice," Gabe muttered.

He choked as Ego grabbed him by the throat. "You should've shut up when I told you!"

"One day I won't be servant to you anymore," Gabe sputtered, shoving at Ego and gasping for air.

"Perhaps," Ego growled, throwing Gabe to the floor, "but for now, you _are_. Now get up and do as I say!"

Gabe scrambled to the corner and didn't say another word.

Ego stared at the TV screen. Beckett had since changed it to a 24 hour news station. Of course, the news story was the destruction of the Pentagon—the White House called it a possible terrorist attack, the worst since the US was dragged into WWIII in 2084.

"Well, at least the launcher works," Beckett mused, a smug grin painted on his face as he watched the news report.

~~

Joe sat in his living room, drinking soda and only half-paying attention to the men on television discussing last night's football games. The rest of his attention was diverted to his cell phone, on his mindless apps, while he waited for either of his two teammates to give him an update on the case.

One of the newscaster's long-winded rants on a bad play was cut short by static as the network switched to an emergency broadcast. A headline running across the banner at the bottom of the screen read: **UNCONFIRMED TERRORIST ATTACK ON PENTAGON.**

Stave let out a low growl—he did not take kindly to anything that interrupted the sports—causing Joe to look up.

He almost spit out his drink when he saw the twisted metal skeleton of the building still blazing behind a very calm news reporter.

"...The exact launch site is undetermined, but satellite images have confirmed that the missile was fired somewhere in north-eastern Illinois."

At this point Joe was scrambling to dial the numbers in on his phone, just to have it begin vibrating in his hand. Without even thinking he pressed 'answer' and held the phone to his ear.

"'Dude, are you seeing—"

"Yes, but listen—Andy's already on his way and I'll be there soon. And be ready for anything, you got that?"

~~

It was no longer than ten minutes after that phone call that the trio met up in the base. Patrick kept a close eye on the police reports; Andy paced around the room anxiously as he kept an eye on the broadcast from D.C. Joe looked between the two, at a loss for anything more productive that he could be doing.

"Why haven't you shown yourself yet?" Patrick growled, running a hand through his hair as he scanned the screen. Normally, the silence was welcomed—but not tonight. He let a deep breath out through his nose and stood up, needing to let off some steam. It was then that numbers and descriptions starting flooding the screen. Various different high-severity codes, all concentrated in the south end of the city.

"We're moving out."


	7. You're A Mean One, Dr. Ego

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explosions! Anti-patriotism! Men in tights prowling the city streets!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, props to [Syrupwit](archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit) for the beta work!
> 
> -CC

The Fall Out Avengers had been searching the entire city, high and low, for the past five or six hours. The time, along with their morale, had been lost long ago. Their bodies ached and their eyes stung, but for the sake of the safety of all citizens in the area, they had to keep on going until the terrorist was caught. Too bad they didn’t have a lot to go on in the first place.

"Shit! What...what is wrong with us? What is going on?!" SuperTrick paced, dragging a hand through his hair. He bit his bottom lip to the point of it turning a milky white color. He shook his other fist, pining to punch a hole in the nearest wall.

Andy interjected, "Trick, calm down—"

"Calm down? Are you _serious_?! There's a maniac out there, blowing shit up, and he's hiding out, somewhere in our own city, and yet the 'three greatest heroes’ can't catch the bad guy!" He buried his face into his hands, pressing his back against a wall and slowly started sliding down. He mumbled, cursing everything he saw fit.

Andy and Joe exchanged glances.

Patrick only sat there, shaking his head over and over again as his eyes squeezed shut. He pulled his knees to his chest.

Andy knelt in front of Patrick, not receiving any kind of response from him. "’Trick, just...calm down, okay? We're going to find these guys." He put a hand on Patrick's shoulder; Patrick only responded by looking up a bit. “Besides, we've found more information faster than the police force has been able to."

"Yeah man, we could be in _their_ shoes," Joe chimed in.

Patrick looked up at his two friends. His shoulders slowly slumped and the expression on his face softened before he got back up to his feet.

“You…you’re right. Moping and feeling sorry for ourselves isn’t going to solve this case, right?”

His two comrades nodded in unison and gave him two reassuring smiles.

The corner of Patrick’s mouth twitched up. "Alright, you guys win this conversation... again." he replied, feeling a tad embarrassed.

“Yeah, we usually do,” Andy added with a teeny smirk.

Patrick playfully punched his arm, earning a loud yelp from the other man. They laughed, releasing the awkward tension.

"I think we've done enough tonight, let's just...go back home and do more in the morning."

"Ah yes, sleep!" Joe exhaled dreamily, "How I love thee."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, let's go I guess," he replied to Patrick, ignoring Joe’s current elated fascination with sleep.

~~

Beckett and Serpent were now standing out of the way, not wanting to partake in Ego’s wrath. It might’ve been just a tiny wrench, but it was also a _steel_ wrench.

Gabe sat in the corner with his arms folded over his chest, pouting slightly. _Was it really so bad he liked the computer’s voice? Why couldn’t Dr. Ego just let him have his fun?_ “Party pooper,” he hissed out under his breath, his little tongue flickering out stubbornly.

Beckett sighed and placed a hand on Gabe’s shoulder. 

He tilted his head up and stared with his big, pouty, black eyes.

“Not to worry, friend,” Beckett said as he cracked a rare, but genuine, smile. “Once we’re out of this operation, I’ll hold the old bastard down, and you kick him, alright?”

" _Alright_! We're attacking the Alamo first!" Ego shouted, causing the other two men to nearly jump out of their skin.

Beckett shot a malicious glance at Ego before snarling, "Don't you mean just _you?_ Considering we're being forced out of this little party?"

His only response was a roll of the eye from the frustrated man.

"Coordinates entered," the female computer voice announced in its monotonous tone.

"Target locked." The screen zoomed in on the huge city of San Antonio, Texas, then zoomed in on the old Texas mission building, the Alamo.

Beckett and Serpent both leaned in to watch, waiting for the old, run-down building to blow up into smithereens.

"Now firing missile in ten…nine…eight—"

_Next the Golden Gate bridge, the damn Statue of Liberty, and then… **New Chicago**!_ Ego plotted in his mind. His demonic smile grew ever wider as the countdown finally reached “zero.” They all watched the giant screen as the 'fireworks' reduced the old mission into a huge pile of rubble and dirt.

Ego quickly switched the channel to a news broadcast that was already on the scene. He let out an amused laugh as he heard the alarms begin to blare throughout the city. He smiled ear to ear at the people's panicking and disoriented screams of terror. "And now, onto the next building-"

"Can we please at least watch this one?” Serpent whined. He had grown bored of sitting in the corner like a punished child.

Ego let out a low growl at first, his fists clenched and ready to grab his wrench to bean the other two in the head. Surprisingly, he calmed down instead. “Fine.”

Serpent beamed with joy; Beckett raised a quizzical eyebrow at Ego’s seemingly calm demeanor.

“But I swear if you do the voice again, or launch a missile without my instruction, I will throw _both_ of you out!” Ego glared. “ _Got it?_ ”

Serpent fist-pumped the air before making a dash for the computer screen, staring up at it in pure joy and being sure not to make a peep.

_Gabe is so easily amused,_ Beckett thought with a displeased sigh before striding over to join the other two.

Ego began the next launch sequence, a satisfied smile on his pursed lips.

~~

The Fall Out Avengers began their trek home.

Joe walked now, too low on energy to try and run—even a little.

Patrick floated beside the other two, hovering close to the ground—he wanted to be sure his friends made it home safe on this eerie night.

Andy simply played with his phone, keeping a lookout for any news flashes or police calls. He was sure there wouldn’t be much, but hey—anything could happen.

Joe began to yawn and stretch. _Really should’ve brought a snack with me,_ he realized, noting that even his thoughts sounded exhausted. _I could be already in bed by now, dreaming… sleeping… pillows are soft, man._ A goofy grin now encompassed his entire face.

"Oh, shit— _guys_ , read this!"

Joe was shaken out of his thoughts, his body jumping in alarm before he realized it was only Andy.

Patrick and Joe exchanged quick glances before rushing over to either side of Andy to read whatever had just freaked him out.

**BREAKING NEWS: THE ALAMO, STATUE OF LIBERTY, AND THE GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE ALL ATTACKED! THE ATTACK WAS THOUGHT TO COME FROM THE NEW CHICAGO AREA—MORE NEWS ON THIS STORY AS IT DEVELOPS.**

"Shit—base, _now_!"

Joseph groaned aloud in protest at Patrick's command.

”At least HQ is under my house…” Joe grumbled.

~~

As soon as the three reached their home-base, Andy dashed over to the huge computer screen, turning it to a news channel, impatiently waiting for updates on the massive attack.

Patrick switched the channel, only to be stopped by Joe’s shouting.

"No, wait!"

Andrew and Patrick stopped and turned toward their friend.

"What? What's wrong?!"

"Go to channel five, not seven! Stave and I like the anchorman's hair on channel seven!"

Andrew and Patrick both groaned out in annoyance.

Andy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, "Joe, does it really matter at a time like this?”

Joe crossed his arms in a huff. " _Fine_ , watch the channel with the balding man, we don’t care—"

"Will you both be quiet and watch the damn news report!" Patrick, now glared at his two comrades. Andy and Joe stopped arguing and frantically grabbed a seat.

The reports on the channel were the same as the news flash on Andy's phone.

Someone had attacked the Alamo, the Statue of Liberty, and the Golden Gate bridge. There were no leads, as luck would have it. And, of course, it was all traced back to the New Chicago, Illinois area.

Patrick hung his head, feeling crushed by the outcome of the situation. “We just can’t fucking win, can we?” he mumbled to himself. He shook his head before resting it in his hand, trying to come up with anything they could possibly do. It was a silent distraction among them all.

The silence continued between the three of them for a moment. They were in a deep stupor about what could possibly be happening around them. Patrick, being the most lost in thought, had forgotten he wasn’t alone in the base, and looked up in surprise when Joe spoke.

“Let’s… just get some sleep.” Joe yawned, his hand covering his mouth. “We’re obviously too tired to think,” he said, shrugging lightly. “Besides, maybe they’ll be more developments in the morning?” Joe desperately wanted to sleep at this point. “Also," he jabbed a finger in the direction of an already sleeping Andy, who was snored softly. His body was seated in one of the chairs while his arms encompassed his head, which rested on the table. “I think Andy agrees with me this time.”

Patrick sighed softly. His friends were right; they needed their sleep. But a nagging feeling told him to stay up and listen out for the news. “Sure.”

Joe grinned in both satisfaction and relief.

“You go on to bed—I’ll stay down here with Andy and keep an eye on the news.”

Joe shook his head. “Alright, ’Trick,” he said as he headed for the exit. “Don’t push yourself, yeah? We kind of need you to not be a psychotic mess. Well, g’night!” And with that, Joe sped off upstairs to his house, to a well deserved sleep.

Patrick took a seat in a chair, eyes glazing over the news on the screen. His eyelids felt heavy, and his body weightless. He shook his head violently, trying to keep awake. “Just gonna stay up…lil’ longer…” his words slurred out, trying to reassure himself. “Not gonna… sleep… city needs me…people need me…just gonna—“ He nodded off mid-sentence, his head clunking against the table.


	8. Time to Rev Up the Hurley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The curtains go up on the main event,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post! Both of us were quite busy yesterday. 
> 
> As always, thanks to [Syrupwit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit) for taking the time to be our beta!
> 
> -CC

Hours had passed since Ego had launched the last missile attack. The three villains were now bickering over other, more pressing, matters.

"You want us to rob a bank? How stupid..." Beckett mused, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous idea. “And here I thought we actually _wanted_ to take over the city.”

“I don’t care,” Gabe said with a shrug of his shoulders, “I get to be human for this, and that makes me pretty damn happy. But yeah,” he turned towards Ego, who was now fuming, “why a bank?”

Ego’s fist hit the table hard. He nearly dented the ancient wood, earning instant silence from the other two.

"If both of you will just shut up, and let me finish!" Ego growled, frustrated by his minions. "You're going to rob the bank to _grab attention_. While everyone's trying to deal with the commotion you two will make, I'll begin tearing this city to the ground!" He smirked. His mind wandered at the infinite ways to cause terror and destruction unto the city that shunned him.

Gabe shot a hand into the air, waving it around like an overexcited kindergartner.

Ego sighed in resentment; he pinched the bridge of his nose, with eyes shut. He didn't want to look at Gabe's stupid face anymore. "Yes, Gabriel?" His voice was monotone, and _hardly_ amused.

"Yeah, um… can you repeat that?"

Gabe cried out as Dr. Ego hurled a nearby screwdriver, aiming at his head.

~~

Andy awoke to the blaring ring of the base’s alarm. It jostled him from his broken sleep with a kink in his neck. “Th’ell?” he slurred, running a hand through his hair as he tried to piece the situation together.

Before he could get his bearings, a loud **thud** echoed throughout the base.

“ _Fuck_!” Patrick yelped from his perch on the ceiling. He rubbed the sore spot on his head; a goose-egg was already beginning to form. Patrick cursed under his breath. He _hated_ his bouts of sleep-flying, especially when they ended with his shirt snagged on a jagged piece of plaster.

Andy could only stare at the scene with wide eyes. He was too tired for this shit right now. “Do you, uh. Should I get a broom?” he said as the dust settled over the computer and—lord have mercy—Joe’s favourite swiveling chair.

Patrick, the color of his face now matching his suit, sighed as he tried to wriggle himself free. “No, just. Turn the alarm off, I’ll work this out.”

Andy raised an incredulous eyebrow, and turned toward the console. He entered the code to stop the blaring siren and read the flashing text across the screen. 

“ _Shit_ , there were more terrorist attacks,” he muttered, chewing his lip. He tried to catch up with the information that flew across the screen. “And they all trace back to—”

“—The south end, I know,” Joe supplied as he sauntered down the stairs. He had his phone in one hand and a half-eaten protein bar in the other. He was still in full costume, but looked well-rested. “Should we move out? I mean, it’s still a pretty broad search, but if the trail’s hot enough—” he paused to glance up from his phone and stopped dead in his tracks. A goofy smile twitched on his face when he saw Patrick hanging from the ceiling like a piñata. “Dude,” he said, a broad, mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Patrick retorted through gritted teeth. With one last thrash, he broke himself free as well as a sizable chunk of plaster. Now free of the ceiling, he landed with a surprising amount of regained grace. “Just get us the news report. We need more info.”

Joe glanced up at the ceiling one last time and sighed at the mess. Using his phone, he turned on the gigantic flat screen. “You’re helping me fix that later, I hope you know that.”

Before anyone could argue, the TV sprang to life. An emergency news broadcast began to play.

" _-In breaking news: NC Bank is currently facing a hostage situation. It was reported two men drove up in a beat up sedan and strolled into the bank, where they both pulled out a gun and demanded the bank close and lock their doors and hand over all the money on hand._  
"At this moment, the bank is still being held up—yelling and a few shots can be heard every once in a while from inside. No hostages have been freed as of now. Women, men, and children of every race and age are being held.  
"We now turn to Mike Hawk, an innocent passerby to explain what he saw. Mr. Hawk?"

_A dark-auburn haired man stalked up slowly to the camera, his eyes darting around cautiously; he was visibly shaken. The anchorwoman turned towards him and handed the mic to him so he could begin speaking:_

_"I-I was just walking down the street on the other side of the bank when that car drove up, but I thought nothing of that -- it was the way those two looked. One was wearing a lot of black-" His hands motioned each piece of clothing: "hat, gloves, trenchcoat, slacks—and he had a bandanna or something tied around his knee. But was even more strange was the fact he was real pale, like Boo Radley or something! It was almost… like he was a—" He cringed in embarrassment, cheeks flushing slightly. “—a vampire.”_

_The anchor woman nodded, keeping her professional persona. "And the other man?"_

_"He actually looked normal. He just wore a hoodie—a hat underneath it—and jeans, real casual looking. Didn’t seem to have much hair on him, though. Wouldn’t blame him for hiding his head like that if I were him."_

_"Thank you, Mr. Hawk." The woman smiled. The man gave a tiny one back before standing at attention, remaining by her side. An awkward look appeared on his face._

_"And now the city asks only one question: where are the Fall Out Avengers?"_

"I think that's our cue, guys." Patrick looked at his friends.

"Right, let's go!" Andy nodded, turning towards the exit with Patrick.

"Wait!" Joe shouted, stopping them in their tracks. He rummaged through the mountain of files and miscellaneous items collected on the Peter Wentz case.

Andy and Patrick turned and gave him an annoyed glance.

Joe, now shoving papers onto the floor, tried to explain. "We need to get there quick—"

"Yeah, so _let’s go already_!" Patrick jabbed a thumb towards the base's hidden exit.

"No, I mean—Andy is slow..."

Andy opened his mouth to retort back when Joe cut him off.

"Here." Joe tossed him a small ring of keys.

Andy caught it and stared at it in his hand. "Er...what are these for?"

Joe walked over to a darkened part of the base and flicked on the huge lights. The electricity hummed as the darkness lit up.

A brand new Kawasaki sat in a corner of the base, with a customized helmet perched on its seat.

Andy only stared, wide eyed and speechless.

"It was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday or whatever, but I think this is much more important."

~~

Gabe stood by the side of the window, peeking out of it every once in awhile. His orders were to stand guard and make sure no one tried any funny business. If this didn't go smoothly, he was sure Ego would have their heads. He sighed, his foot tapping out a rhythm, trying to calm himself down. He held his shotgun close to him, as if it were his life or a small child. His eyes widened when he saw three familiar people arrive at the scene.

"Beckett," he hissed, snapping his head in the other man’s direction.

"What is it now, Saporta?" Beckett leaned against a wall. He fiddled with the safety on his pistol in complete boredom. _When was Ego going to get on with the destruction, already?! He couldn't keep the bank held up much longer._

Gabe looked around at the hostages in the bank. They were all on the ground, backs hunched, with their hands covering their heads. Some people were unusually cool and collected, while others were sobbing with their eyes shut tight. To be honest, he was uncomfortable partaking in such criminal matters. But, with everything he had done so far, there was no turning back.

Gabe stepped over some of them, trying hard to be polite despite the situation. His glance lingered back at the window every once in awhile. "They're here," he mumbled.

Beckett rolled his eyes and nodded. "About time. Say nothing about the heroes out loud—we don’t want a riot on our hands."

Gabe nodded, then strode back over to the window.

Beckett pressed two fingers to his ear, clicking a button on an earpiece-headset. He cleared his throat, a smug smile on his lips. “Oh Peter, I have some news,” he sang, with sarcasm.

On the other end, he could hear Ego fumbling with his own earpiece. Ego's gruff voice answered, irked.

"What is it?!"

"Our dear super hero friends have finally arrived! Shall I pull up a seat for them and offer them something to drink? Then we can begin talking about our day! Perhaps mention this beautiful weather we’re having—"

"What the hell are you blabbering about?! Execute the second part of your plan while I execute mine!"

"...I was being sarcastic, you idiot. Can't even take a goddamn joke—"

“Just begin phase two, already. I don’t have time for fun and games, William!"

Beckett cringed, his hearing now shot, and sighed in frustration. "Saporta!" he spoke through the earpiece again.

"Y-yeah?" Gabe answered, his voice low. He knew what was coming next, and he didn't like it one bit. 

"Time for phase two."

Gabe paused before nodding slowly. They were going to need a hostage, to show the outside world that they meant business.

Gabe looked away, back out the window.

The Fall Out Avengers were fighting and arguing with some of the police officers who wouldn't let them pass. Some of the city's people were arguing back, on the Avengers’ side.

He continued watching this to keep his mind off what Beckett was about to do. Unless it was in defense, Gabe did not condone violence—so why he had sided with Ego was beyond his own comprehension.

“You there!” Beckett pointed to one of the workers, a young man who appeared to be in his early thirties. The man glanced up, his hands still over the top of his head. “Come here,” Beckett growled. The man remained frozen in his spot. “ _I don’t like waiting_ ,” Beckett added.

The young man shook as he stood, his entire body wracked with fear. He kept his hands above his head, not wanting to give his captors the wrong idea. His rapidly beating heart felt like it had dropped into the pit of his stomach.

Beckett yanked the man by the arm, earning a yelp from him.

“Now listen up—” Beckett paused to quickly glance at the employee’s name tag, “—David.” He proceeded to point the barrel of his pistol at David’s head. “If you try anything funny, I will not hesitate to blow your brains in. Do you understand?” Beckett felt David gulp and shudder in terror; he smirked. “Ah, I see that you do. Now then—”

“Th-the Fall Out Avengers will save us.”

Beckett froze at these words. He was first in shock, but it soon turned into hysterical laughter.

The entire room went completely silent, afraid to make the slightest sound or movement. The hostages held their breath, as if all the air was sucked from their lungs.

“ _Really_?!” He chuckled, “And just _what_ makes you think that?”

David didn't actually know the answer, or why he had spoke up—he just knew he was right. His heart beat in his chest; his hands balled up into fists as he looked his captor right in the eye. He didn’t feel afraid anymore, he just felt angry.

“Because…” His mind scanned for the words, tongue tripping, “because they’re the heroes. They always win,” he stated.

Beckett raised a single eyebrow, unmoved by his words.

“You two are nothing but a bunch of heartless villains, and you’re all the same. You think you can get away with shit like this, because of your arrogance and power. But you know what? I know you’re afraid, I can feel you shaking in those damn polished shoes of yours. And you have every right to.” David stared straight into Beckett’s eyes, his terror already subsiding, warping into courage.

Some of his coworkers raised their heads. They had no idea that a quiet man like David could be so calm with a gun pointed to his head.

“The Fall Out Avengers are going to fuck you up.” David was sweating from his boiling anger; his face was dark. He didn't know where these words were coming from, and he couldn't stop them. “And we’re all going to laugh, without pity or guilt, when your asses get thrown in jail. The police will have zero remorse when you're strapped into the electric chair—”

The whole room let out a shriek of terror as a gunshot boomed throughout the air. David’s body seemed frozen in time before it collapsed onto the ground. Blood pooled underneath his head and began soaking into his clothes.

Beckett clutched the still-smoking gun as he glanced up at the room. Blood splattered onto nearby hostages, as well as Beckett’s jacket and face. A malicious grin stretched out on Beckett's face. “Any more volunteers?” he quipped, licking at the bit of blood on his lips.


	9. Now You See Him, Now You Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bank situation heats up, and so do tempers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws Stumporta at all of you*
> 
> As always, thanks to [Syrupwit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit) for the beta work!
> 
> -CC

The sound of a gunshot from inside the bank echoed out onto the streets, causing panic to course through nearby onlookers. This also caused a small riot to form in front of the caution tape, forcing the police to stop the civilians in their place. Shouting was all that could be heard in the streets. Women cried, begging the cops to do their job; someone screamed for their son that was still inside the bank; children were clinging to their parents, as to not get stomped on by the rioters.

SuperTrick watched all this, hoping to god—or whoever was out there—to calm these people down. _The police sure weren’t helping._

" _Did you just not hear the gunshot_?!" Anarcho-Vegan Man shouted at a cop who resembled a mule both in appearance and mannerism. "They _shot_ someone! You have to let us in before someone else dies!"

"I told you, you're _not authorized_ to go in there! I don’t care how colorful your spandex is or how many fans you have, this is _official police business_! Now let us do our job!"

"This is insanity! At least we're _trying_ to help! You're just standing out here, watching a hostage—and now _murder_ —situation unfold!" SuperTrick raised his voice at the cop, despite his efforts to remain calm. He pinched the bridge of his nose in complete frustration. _I bet Superman never had to deal with this sort of crap. Wait, did he? Oh, fuck it—who cares, this is complete nonsense!_

“We’ve told you before, and I’m telling you right this goddamn minute—we don’t need any of your “vigilante justice” bullshit! We have the situation under control, so you can fly your ass back home and let me do my job!" Spittle flew from the cop’s mouth as he grew more aggressive with the hero.

The cop turned on his heels and stormed away. He was too busy dealing with more pressing matters to bother arguing with some freak mutants in tights.

 _This is getting more and more out of hand…_ SuperTrick mulled over the dire situation before exhaling a long breath of air. _I don’t care about the law right now, we don’t have any more time for this._ He knew what he had to do. _We’re going in, and they’re not stopping us_.

Troh, who was standing a few feet away from 'Trick, looked up, knowing something was wrong.

Patrick glanced up, feeling eyes upon him, his gaze landing on Joe’s. _We have to get in there, no matter the cost,_ he thought. He walked over to Andy and Joe to discuss the plan.

~~

“Well, that worked out smoothly.” Beckett kicked the dead body out of his way. “Anybody else work here? Don’t make me hunt you down,” he growled, gazing about the room like a hungry predator.

Everyone shrunk down, staring at the ground to avoid eye contact with the murderer.

Beckett shook his head, disappointed, and waved a finger towards one of the better-dressed men. “Saporta, grab that man by your feet, he looks valuable.”

“P-please, I have nothing to give you!” the man choked, as Gabe hauled him up by the arm.

"So says the golden “manager” badge on your chest," Beckett said, “Bring him over here, now!” he barked.

The manager immediately shut his mouth. 

Gabe dragged him over to his comrade, feeling guilty about having to do so.

Beckett leaned down to the man’s level. "Where's the vault? Don’t make me ask twice," he said, snarling a bit.

The banker gulped down the lump in his throat as he noticed the man had two small fangs. The thought _Can this day get any weirder **or** scarier?_ flashed in his mind. “I-it’s in the back.” He nodded, with haste. “A-allow me to direct you.”

Beckett smirked, “Such a gentleman, thank you. Saporta, stay out here and keep an eye on our other guests. I shall call you if you are needed.”

Gabe nodded and let go of the man’s arm. He pushed the hostage towards Beckett, who promptly clutched his arm.

The banker led Beckett to the vault and scanned his ID. The tumblers from the locks groaned open, revealing rows upon rows of metal drawers with towering stacks of money inside of them.

“Thank you, sir,” Beckett sneered as he threw the man down. He bent down, while the man grunted in pain, and plucked the keys off his belt loop. “I’ll just be borrowing these. Saporta, do be so kind as to direct this man back to his spot—his services are no longer required.”

Gabe swallowed. “Do you want me to, uhh…” he said, jostling his shotgun.

“Hmm…” Beckett mulled over the proposition for a second or two. “Your choice, I don’t care either way.” He waved him away and went to work, trying out the locks with his new set of keys.

Gabe nodded at once, grabbing up the shaking, fearful man.

“P-please! I don’t want to die—I have kids an-and a wife!” the man emphasized, eyes pleading. “Please!”

Gabe sighed. “I’m not going to shoot you. Just stay in your spot, and stay quiet.”

The manager smiled graciously. “Th-thank you, you’re so kind!”

Gabe glared at the man, albeit half-heartedly.

The man shrunk back immediately and swallowed.

“Don’t make me change my mind, got it?” Gabe scowled. He was trying his best to look tough, because if Ego found out he’d made friends with a hostage—well, let’s just say _Ego would have a nice new pair of snake-skin boots._

~~

Patrick couldn’t see much from behind the police barricade, but he knew the situation at hand was only getting worse. In his hand, he held a stone, the size of his palm and twice as thick, which he had grabbed from the bank’s decorative rock garden. He flicked his wrist, testing the rock’s weight one last time, as he glanced around to make sure the dozen or so cops on the scene weren’t watching him.

With the coast clear, he hurled the stone through the bank’s nearest window, shattering it. The glass flew inward in tiny, dangerous shards, which crashed onto the ground; luckily, no one was close enough to get injured. _Works for me_. SuperTrick smirked, taking advantage of the ensuing chaos to fly past the confused officers. “Narch, Troh—follow in quick!” he shouted to his friends.

They both nodded, already at the ready, and ran in behind him. Officers grabbed at their shirts, limbs-- whatever was in reach, but they were promptly shoved off. Some civilians even clung to the officers, slowing them down, and cheered on for their heroes.

Gabe nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of glass breaking. He shakily reached for his shotgun, and began pleading to himself, “ _Please just be a cop_ ,” he held his breath, “ _Please, oh please…_ ”

Beckett, who was still putting keys to locks in the vault, cursed under his breath and clicked his earpiece on. “Peter, they’re inside. You’d better be starting part two before there’s no distraction _left_.”

Static played through the connection for a few seconds, then Ego’s voice came through, gruff and sharp. “I’m on my way, dammit! Just quit your whining and keep them busy until I get there!”

Beckett huffed, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. “You heard him, Saporta,” he uttered, still over the connection. “Time to get our hands dirty.”

Gabe gave a timid “ _Roger_ ” to Beckett, but remained in his spot, visibly shaking. He felt his heart beating at a rapid, thumping pace—almost like a drumroll in his chest. He started to sweat, grinding his teeth. His mouth was starting to feel like pins and needles. “ _Fuck, no—not here, not now!_ ” He panicked internally; right now was not the time to transform back into Serpent.

The anxiety only worsened at the sight of the three heroes swooping in. The hostages all breathed out a heavy sigh of relief, some even tearing up in pure joy— _They were saved_.

 _Shit, shit, **shit!**_ Gabe echoed in his mind. He picked up the shotgun and pointed it at the heroes. 

SuperTrick glared him down before glancing at the dead body of a young man at his feet. 

Gabe could feel the awkward intensity growing, “No, it’s not what you think!” Gabe spouted before he could even stop himself. His tongue tripped over the words. “I didn’t—”

An arrow whizzed right toward him before he could react, striking him in the arm. Gabe cried out at the intense pain and dropped his shotgun, which clattered against the tile. The impact of the fall caused the shotgun to fire seemingly on its own, nearly shooting Anarcho-Vegan Man in the foot.

The archer stared up at Gabe, not looking too thrilled.

“Fuck, I just _had_ to take the damn safety off—”

Gabe hissed out in pain as he was yanked by the collar of his shirt by none other than SuperTrick. Gabe gave a passive smile, as if to ward off any tension, but it wavered away as he was now hovering, practically touching the ceiling.

By now, Patrick was pretty tired of the situation, and he wasn’t in the mood to be merciful. 

“So the gun was loaded? I guess that gives me a pretty good excuse to beat the living crap out of you, right?” His eyes dimmed as he reared back a fist.

“Stop right there!” A fleet of footsteps was heard, along with the booming voice of a cop.

If TrohFro rolled his eyes any further, hie eyeballs would be lolling in the back of his head. “Yeah, _now_ they actually do something,” he grumbled under his breath.

SuperTrick spun around, still clutching his captive, and glared at the officers. “I told you, we already got this—”

“Not him!” A female cop answered, in a huff. “His accomplice over there!”

Beckett, on cue, ambled out of the vault with his pistol in one hand and a bag full of money in the other.

Several cops had their guns aimed Beckett. One of the cops in front shouted at him: “Drop your weapon and put your hands on your head—stay _exactly_ where you are!”

Beckett obeyed, slowly bending over to lay his gun and the bag down, before straightening up and lacing his fingers against the back of his head. “We have what we want and we mean you no harm,” he explained, "so if you’d just let my friend down over there, perhaps we could end this peacefully.”

AVM raised his already loaded bow, not believing the man’s ruse. “There’s a dead man shot in cold blood,” he snarled, pulling back on the bowstring, “there is no ‘peace’ left for you.”

Beckett sighed with a slight pout. “Well, that’s a shame. But I _did_ give you a chance,” he replied, almost in a pitying tone. The air around him began to waver, like a mirage, and he vanished without a sound.

The room was still. No one spoke, despite a few mouths being wide open in shock.

“...What the _fuck_?!” Gabe shouted, finally processing what had just happened. “You fucking asshole!”

A thunderous boom rang off in the distance, causing confusion to turn into widespread fear. Not a moment went by before it sounded again, only this time it was closer.

The three Avengers were now staring out at the door.

SuperTrick floated down, eyes the size of saucers. “Shit, that does not sound good.” He passed Gabe—who began to thrash in a tantrum-like state—over to a nearby cop.

The criminal was quickly restrained with a pair of cuffs.

TrohFro tilted his head in puzzlement. “Dude, where are you goin—?”

SuperTrick held up a hand, not giving a glance back, and continued walking outside. “Quiet for a moment, I hear something… _rolling_ —” he almost second guessed himself, but he was sure, “—towards here?”

Nobody else heard anything until the ground began to rumble a few moments later. A female police officer, who had been outside controlling the crowd, burst through the bank's doors. “We have a situation out there—something is destroying the city!”

~~

The majority of the crowd had darted off, screaming in fear. Some of the braver souls stayed behind, their bodies frozen in a near catatonic state, staring in the direction of the bizarre explosions.

"What the hell?" TrohFro asked as he jogged outside along with his friends.

"Oh... Oh my god." AVM whispered. He may have been the toughest one of the group, rarely ever afraid, but this—this froze him on the spot.

In the distance, though it was near impossible to see, they could make out the silhouette of a gargantuan military tank— _and it was headed straight for them_.

“Guys—guys!” AVM shouted, finally turning to his friends, “The bank, the hostage situation—that was never the real problem.” He jabbed his finger in the direction of the metal beast, “ _That_ was a distraction for _this_.” 

The same cop that had previously dismissed the Fall Out Avengers considered this for a moment or two, then ran back to his car. He snatched up his walkie talkie, holding down a button as he spoke. Words stumbled out as he sputtered into it:

"This is Officer Ramirez, requesting SWAT team support and an immediate evacuation of downtown and the surrounding areas!"


	10. Acid Reflux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that the rinkhals can spit its venom a distance of over two meters when threatened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late in the day, and I apologize.
> 
> As always, thanks to [Syrupwit](archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit) for doing our beta work!
> 
> -CC

The three heroes ran out of the bank to go after the true problem: the war machine, leaving the unfortunate robber (who was still cursing out his absent partner) in the hands of the police.

The trio couldn't help but stare, dumbfounded, at the giant tank rumbling toward them. As it advanced, it shook the ground and crushed anything that got trapped under its treads. Sparks flew as streetlights toppled, and the wails of car alarms echoed through the streets as the behemoth put unlucky automobiles out of their misery.

TrohFro hated when SuperTrick was right; it was indeed a giant tank. They had to act fast to stop this thing and protect all who inhabited the area.

"’Narch, Troh—get the civilians out of here! I'll hold off the tank!" SuperTrick yelled over the loud rumble of the tank.

His two comrades nodded and ran off, doing as they were ordered.

SuperTrick, with all his speed, flew at the tank at full force. The wind roared in his ears as he advanced upon the giant metal behemoth.

His fists made contact with the steel and, to his relief, made a sizable dent in the metal hull without breaking any bones. He planted his feet on the ground, praying to whatever was out there that he would be able to stop this thing.

The tank revved, forcing him to skid against the pavement, but he still stood his ground.

SuperTrick heard a loud whirring from above, and tilted his head to look. A single turret was now aimed and ready to fire at him; he had no choice but to fly away in retreat. He cursed as the tank began moving forward as if his efforts were meaningless.

SuperTrick's decision to fly away, however, did not discourage the tank operator from opening fire. The turret began spitting bullets at him with everything it had.

SuperTrick darted behind an old building, catching his breath as he tried to formulate a new plan.

~~

The criminal grew docile as they guided him out. He was cuffed, and restrained by two police officers on either side of him. Something was strange though. Not the compliance, but the fact the robber's skin felt rough and more textured than normal human skin. They ignored this new development, and threw him in an opened squad car. The force of the push would’ve rattled any normal criminal, but what they failed to understand was that _he wasn’t normal_.

The car door slammed, with a deafening thud, locking Gabe inside, cuffed and helpless. The officers congratulated each other on a job well done, as they walked away to tend to other matters. But, as calm and tranquil as Gabe seemed, he was far from it. He was boiling mad.

 _That…that asshole lied to me!_ Gabe’s body tensed up in quiet rage. _I thought he was my friend. God, I am so fucking stupid._ He looked at the floor, his eyes wet with tears. _He never liked me—he never did! he’s just like stupid Ego, and everyone else who’s rejected me._ His shoulders shook so violently, he didn’t even notice the pain that was starting to seep in.

He glanced back up, looking out the front of the car, through the steel grating. A sharp pain in his mouth caused him to cry out, forcing tears down his cheeks. Sharp teeth were starting to grow out of his gums. "No—no, don’t transform, don’t!” he groaned, the severity of his anger growing along with the pain. But then he stopped, as a thought crossed his mind. _Why should he stop the transformation—why did he need to depend on others to save him?_ His eyes grew dark, his pupils shrinking down to two slits.

The cops turned back around at the ear-splitting scream coming from inside their squad car. They exchanged glances of pure bewilderment.

“Is he…screaming?” the female cop asked her partner in a worried tone.

He groaned unenthusiastically and turned around, reaching for his nightstick. “I’ll give him something to scream abou—”

They both shrunk back in terror as the door to their squad car was kicked open, off its hinges. They reached for their weapons, ready to scream an order at the criminal, when something caught their eye—that wasn’t a human leg popping out of the door.

“Is that a fucking raptor leg—” The policeman screamed in terror, along with his partner, as the monster emerged. Their bodies shook with fear as they began to shakily step back away from it.  
The once, normal, criminal, was now a huge, snake-like monster—complete with a large cobra hood, which fanned out as he stood before them.

“Please tell me he’s still in cuff—”

The snake-man, as if on cue, hurled a broken pair of cuffs towards them. The cuffs crashed and clattered into the brick wall behind them, leaving a web-like dent. The cops made the wrong move, as they watched it hit the wall behind their heads. As soon as they turned back around, the snake creature was already running at them, hissing and growling.

The two cops cursed loudly, fumbling with their guns. The last thing they saw when they glanced back up was two separate jet streams of clear liquid hitting them in the face. They fell to the ground, screeching with terror, and rubbed at their eyes. The venom began burning and swelling their eyes, causing excruciating pain.

Serpent watched as they began to convulse on the ground, the venom entering their bloodstreams through their tear ducts. The cops froze, their eyes glossed over, and gasped their last breath. 

Serpent's breathing was sporadic, and his vision became fuzzy and bleak. His breathing slowed as he realized what he had just done—he had committed murder. He surveyed the damage before falling to the ground in a combination of searing pain and debilitating weakness.

“I knew you could take care of yourself, Gabe.” Serpent heard what sounded like a faint voice behind him, as if someone were yelling at him from the end of a tunnel. He slowly craned his head, blinking to regain his vision. He was more than bewildered by the fact the figure was standing right behind him. Serpent shot up from in a defensive manner, regaining all his strength to fight back, before he realized it was Beckett; he hissed and backed away on quaky legs.

“You left me!” he shouted. “You fucking left me with those stupid heroes and those cops!” His voiced rose with every word. “Get away from me,” he snarled. 

Beckett frowned, hurt.

Serpent had already turned away, sitting on the ground in self-pity.

Beckett sighed deeply and stood next to his friend. “Gabe…” he cooed, “Gabe, if I was going to leave you, then why am I here now?”

“To torment me,” Gabe snapped. “Like everyone else does.” He grimaced; Beckett’s hand returned to his shoulder, but Gabe was too tired to strike back.

“Look at you,” Beckett’s voice was soothing, almost too mesmerizing to ignore, “You worked yourself over, and don’t have any strength left. You know what transforming does to you.” Gabe kept quiet; Beckett shook his head and tutted. “I was going to come back for you—that’s why I’m here.” Beckett managed a smile as Gabe glanced up at him. “Besides, if they would have caught us both, _neither_ of us would’ve escaped.”

Gabe pondered this for a moment, before sighing. “...You’re right.” he finally answered.

“Besides, you did a very good job on your own. I almost thought I was going to have to break down that door myself! Nice going, I really mean it.”

Gabe had no idea that Beckett had watched the whole thing. _Maybe it was for the best._ Gabe thought to himself, still somber about the killings. He glanced up at Beckett and half-smiled. He didn't want to trouble anyone with his intrusive thoughts.

Beckett grinned and placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “See? I knew you'd be fine.” He chuckled as Gabe finally stood up; he looked tired as hell, but Beckett knew he could manage.

Beckett smirked. “Now, as for another plan—I have one, if you’re interested?”

Gabe crossed his arms. “Go on…”

~~

There were only a few townspeople left. TrohFro and Anarcho-Vegan Man rounded up the rest of them and helped the police force evacuate the city.

It appeared as if the police had finally gotten the evacuation under control. The last of the people were finally rounded up, leaving the streets empty... _except for two people_.

“Well, that takes care of that.” TrohFro grinned, dusting his hands off, “What now?”

“Are you serious, man? Trick is trying to take down a tank _by himself_.”

TrohFro smiled sheepishly. “Oh, right. Yeah, that’s pretty important, isn't it?”

Anarcho-Vegan Man slapped his forehead; he was beyond done with his friend by now. “Let’s just go check on the police at the bank. Just to be sure.”

“Fine with me.” TrohFro shrugged, nonchalant. “‘Trick is a tank himself, I’m pretty sure he can take care of one.”

Anarcho-Vegan Man was about to retort that this was a serious situation with dire consequences, when TrohFro turned, ready to leave him behind in the dust.

“At least wait for me, dammit! Don’t be doing things on your own,” Anarcho-Vegan Man groaned as he hopped up on his motorcycle.

TrohFro sighed, waiting for his lagging friend, and tapping his foot impatiently, “Can we go yet?”

The roar of the motorcycle answered that question. “You’re like a five year-old sometimes. Yes, let’s go, please—”

TrohFro had already sped off; Anarcho-Vegan Man sighed in frustration and rode away after his friend.

“One of these days, I’m just going to leave him behind and not say a word.”

When Anarcho-Vegan Man had finally caught up with TrohFro at the bank, he found TrohFro petrified in his spot. Anarcho-Vegan Man parked beside him and gave him a baffled glance.

“Dude, are you—”

TrohFro didn’t answer, just simply pointed at a large circle of police, standing around… _something_ like vultures. They murmured and talked among themselves. A few were even in tears, shoulders shaking, heads in their hands.

“What is going on?” Anarcho-Vegan Man asked.

TrohFro shook his head. “Dunno, let’s go check it out.” TrohFro squinted, as if trying to clear up a blurry picture.

The two heroes walked up, unnoticed at first, before they cleared their throats. The group of officers looked up, their eyes wide, as if they had seen a ghost. The majority of them looked pale—almost sick, as they parted out of the way for the heroes.

Anarcho-Vegan Man hesitantly stepped through the opening, casting a glance back at TrohFro, before eying the scene. He had to repress a gag and swallow the sour taste that rose in his mouth. He’d seen gunshot wounds before, even corpses that were nearly torn in half by shotgun rounds, but this was too much.

Two uniformed bodies lay on the ground, their lifeless faces contorted into horrified grimaces. Instead of the wide-eyed stare he had come to expect from cases like this, a dark, murky liquid pooled in their eye sockets, the excess spilling down their faces.

A loud, obtrusive growl interrupted everyone’s mulling over on conspiracies of who or what the giant snake was. All heads turned towards the horrific sound; the majority screamed and backed away in pure terror. _Speak of the devil._

“F-fuck this!” One of the cops shouted, fumbling for the keys to his squad car, “I didn’t sign up for this shit—I don’t want to die. I’m out of here!”

The rest of the squad soon followed, as they screamed and ran. Only the braver ones stood their ground, undeterred by the monstrous beast.

“Get out of here.” ‘Anarcho-Vegan Man stated. “Get out of here, we need you guys to be alive—”

“But what about you?!” One of the women officers spoke, eyes pleading. “We need you, too.”

TrohFro flashed a grin at the young woman and nodded his head. “Hey, helping the townspeople is more important than this guy. We’ll be fine, alright?”

She paused, taking a breath to retort, before she sighed, unable to make up an argument. She nodded and without delay, she shouted an order at the others. They soon complied with the heroes.  
Soon, only TrohFro and Anarcho-Vegan Man were on the scene with the frightening monster.

Anarcho-Vegan Man and TrohFro immediately got into fighting stances, glaring at the criminal in front of them.

“What did you do with the prisoner?” Anarcho-Vegan Man yelled at the large man standing mere meters away from them. He stared hard, trying to get a good look at the man.

“Yeah, speak up! Getting real tired of your shit!” Troh added. “You think killing those innocent police officers was fun—huh, do you?” He began taunting the man, not caring at all who it might have been. “How about we make a deal: you come quietly, and I won’t pound your stupid, ugly face in—”

Anarcho-Vegan Man clutched TrohFro’s shoulder. “Troh, you might want to stop.”

“Yeah, why should I?” He exclaimed, shrugging Anarcho-Vegan Man’s hand away. “Give me one good reason—”

“He has scales like the one we found; I think it’s Gabe—”

“Surprise, surprise…” The hooded man spoke, finally, in a gravely voice. The heroes were taken aback as the larger man's cobra-hood fanned out, displaying serpentine features. He grinned, revealing a set of tiny, sharp teeth. His tongue flickered as he smirked on, his eyes gazed at them like any predator would towards its prey.

Something clicked on in the back of Troh’s mind, making itself very apparent.  
_The man from those files—the cancer patient . That robber looked just like that man in that photo—except without hair. Which meant—_

“‘Narch, he _is_ the robber! It’s that Gabriel Saporta dude!”

“Well, aren’t we smart.” A voice spoke behind the two heroes.

AVM turned to see none other than the strange man who had disappeared in the bank. "No way."

“What, you thought you were done for the night?” The man frowned, giving them pitiful glances. “Boys, we’re just getting started,” he sneered. His lips curled into a smirk, as he and he gestured to the forgotten person behind them.

Anarcho-Vegan Man was all-at-once grabbed up in a stranglehold. Scaly, rough arms wrapped around his collarbone and neck. Anarcho-Vegan Man squirmed and coughed, unable to free himself.

“’Narch!” TrohFro shouted; he reached for his friend in a hasty manner, but was cut short from a blow to the face. TrohFro fell to the ground, his cheek stinging sharply.

“Forgotten about me already?” The smaller man clucked, wagging his finger with a “tut”. “Allow me to help you remember.” He bowed his head. “That is Serpent, and I—” his lips curled into a belittling grin, “—am Beckett.”

Anarcho-Vegan Man watched helplessly as his friend fell to a crumpled heap on the ground. He continued to thrash in Serpent’s hold, which only tightened. Serpent’s tail bound his legs, immobilizing the hero. Anarcho-Vegan Man glanced over at TrohFro, silently praying for his friend to get back up. _Come on, man_ , Anarcho-Vegan Man urged on quietly, _Don’t go down this easy, Joe—get up already!_


	11. Ft. Sam Trohman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanks run on fossil fuels; the Trohmans run on sandwiches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tension rises! SuperTrick's a sweaty little dude! Sam! What more can you ask for?
> 
> Once again, many thanks to [Syrupwit](archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit) for doing the beta work!
> 
> -CC

Ego shot round after round of gunfire at the surrounding buildings, hoping to draw SuperTrick out of hiding. "Come out and fight, dammit!" he yelled, quickly loading yet another round of ammunition into the chamber.

SuperTrick sunk down behind a dumpster, desperately trying to come up with a means of attack. If he went out there, he would just get riddled with bullets; if he waited,who knew what would happen to the city? He buried his face in hands, wishing his friends were there to help him.

"Where the fuck _are_ you?!" Ego gritted his teeth, taking a brief moment to remotely load another clip into the main turret.

_I can’t just sit here and risk it—I need to stop him before he reaches the other side of town._ SuperTrick ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. He got to his feet, and peeked over the dumpster during a break in the rapid gunfire. _I can’t let this fear get to me. Sitting here won’t solve anything._ He took in a deep breath and let it out. “I need to move, whether they’re here or not,” he reassured himself out loud.

"Where did he _go?_ " Ego’s voice echoed inside of the tank. He tapped away at a few commands on a screen, searching for an infrared signature. That's when he heard it: a low groaning noise of crushed steel and bending metal, coming from the roof.

Ego cracked a grin, tittering to himself in amusement. “There you are, you son of a bitch. You’re not taking my tank down that easily!”

SuperTrick groaned, heaving at the heavy steel of the tank, trying with all his might to yank it away from its mold. He huffed between pulls until the steel slowly began ripping away from where it was originally soldered. He wasn’t sure if tearing at the tank piece by piece was going to solve anything, but at the moment it was all he could do. He felt his muscles ache and moan in agony as they spasmed and became increasingly sore, but SuperTrick kept on, knowing he could deal with the pain later. Right now he had more important matters to tend to.

SuperTrick’s plans changed when he looked up to be staring down the barrel of the single turret. He took a deep breath and gulped. “Fuck—”

He barely had any time to escape before the turret began showering his general direction with bullets. SuperTrick flew up to avoid the onslaught just in time. He was now hovering above the tank, looking down, watching the destruction it caused.

Now was the time when he actually wished he was bulletproof. He remembered the first time he tested this theory out. It had been a couple years back. He had just started out as a crime fighter and had been tending to a robbery. In short, the robber had pulled out a pistol and shot Patrick in the shoulder. He remembered impact of the stray bullet and how the blood oozed from his shoulder. As much as it had hurt, he pretended not to care, as not to reveal this newly found weakness. 

_I guess I’m less like Superman than I thought,_ he reflected. _I need to stop comparing myself to a fictional comic book character,_ his logic snapped back at him. “Either way, I need to stop this thing.” SuperTrick backed up a bit in midair to gain momentum before accelerating back to the turret, which had paused momentarily.

With a deafening **thud** , he landed on top of the turret's base and firmly gripped it.

Ego’s head snapped towards the direction of the powerful noise that emitted from the top of the tank. He growled as he tapped out more commands on the computer.  
“I’ll show that bastard to mess with me!” he muttered under his breath.  
He didn’t want it to come down to this; after all, this beloved creation of his had taken years to make—but, if he wanted to get rid of SuperTrick, it was the only logical way. A tinge of guilt washed over him for a split second as a confirmation message popped up on the screen: “Self Destruct in T-minus 15 minutes.” The countdown began ticking down. Now, Ego’s feelings turned into vengeful pride. _SuperTrick would soon be destroyed_.

SuperTrick continued to tug at the turret, fighting against his cramping muscles' protests in the hopes of at least making the large gun inoperable. With a metallic groan, the turret tore from its resting place atop the tank's hull, revealing a tangled mess of wires. SuperTrick managed a grin, despite his aching body, and let the machinery fall to the ground. He made his way over to the hatch on top of the tank and managed to tear it off with relative ease.

Ego cringed at the sound of the turret being ripped from its place and its muffled crash onto the ground. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of metal being gashed open with a low whine. He made a brisk retreat towards the back of the tank, reaching for the emergency exit and turning the hinges as quietly as possible. _When the hero flies in, I’ll already be out._ His mouth distorted into a smile.

"This ends now, Ego—" Patrick’s heroic speech was cut short when he discovered that the tank was completely empty. He spun around, trying to catch sight of the gunman, but he was nowhere to be found.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me!" he shouted, his voice echoing harshly against the steel.

**Blip… blip… blip…** a strange noise now accompanied him. SuperTrick turned towards a computer screen; his jaw dropped open at what he saw: a display on the screen clocking in at **10 minutes, 46 seconds** and counting downward.

“Of course he installed a self destruct button!” SuperTrick’s hands flew up in the air. “What villain doesn’t?!”

~~

TrohFro rose back up, rubbing his cheek to soothe the pain. He glared at Beckett with a pained grimace before his mouth twitched into a smile. “Hey, that was a pretty good cheap shot,” Troh smiled, praising the man, “But I’m pretty sure you’re gonna have to do a hell of a lot better than that to bring me down.”

Beckett opened his mouth to counter the statement, but he was cut off:

“But first—” said TrohFro. Using his speed, he managed to sock Serpent in the snout, earning a pained grunt as he released Anarcho-Vegan Man from the choke hold.

Anarcho-Vegan Man gasped as he managed to shakily stand back up and begin to regain his strength.

“Two against one just isn’t fair, Becky,” TrohFro finished, wagging his finger at Beckett in a jeering manner.

Anarcho-Vegan Man calmly raised his bow with an arrow at the ready, and kept it aimed between Serpent’s eyes. “Are we going to keep cracking jokes, or are we going to finally fight?”

~~

The news reporter attempted to sound unflustered, but it was clear by his shaking hands that he was scared. "So far, at least 17 people have been killed in these attacks. We have a report that Chicago's local team of superheroes, the Fall Out Avengers, is on the scene attempting to fight and—"

Sam sat on the floor, his eyes boring into the television screen. Currently it was the only light in the room, since his parents had already turned out all the other lighting in the house. "Hey mom, Joe and Andy are on TV—"

"Sam, you need to get down here into the basement where it’s safe! Who knows how close that tank is to our town—the mayor already announced everyone needs to find shelter—"

"But, Joe is on _TV_ ," Sam whined, not caring at all about some silly _safety precautions_. “We always watch him fight crime on the news!”

"Sam, listen to your mother, now is not the time to be arguing—get down here, now!" His father’s voice was worried, yet stern.

Sam frowned and turned back to the TV. 

His father shook his head and returned down into their cellar. 

Sam didn’t even spare a glance at his father as he continued to watch Joe. He grimaced when he saw his brother being slammed into a brick wall. Sam cringed along with his brother, who was in obvious pain. He didn't know who the pale guy in black was, but he already hated him.

"Come on, Joe..." Sam urged his brother. He sat up straighter, as if trying to get a better look at the battle.

The news helicopter switched over to Anarcho-Vegan Man, who wasn't doing any better with the huge snake-man. In fact, Anarcho-Vegan Man was almost out of arrows; nearly every shot hit the giant scaled beast, but had little luck penetrating his tough hide.

"There's gotta be something I can do," Sam spoke to himself. He looked back up at his big brother on the television, who was dodging the attacker, zipping around so fast that the cameras could barely catch him.

That's when Sam was struck with something brilliant. He pushed himself onto his feet and glanced at the cellar door, where his parents sought shelter. He exhaled a breath, suddenly feeling brave. _I can do this._

He dashed to his room to grab his school bag, dumped all the contents out onto his bed, and made his way into the kitchen.

He stuffed the bag with whatever food he could find: chips, soda, cookies, and even a few sandwiches. If there was anything he had learned from his brother, it was that Joe would need lots of fuel, and so would he.

Sam slung the backpack around his shoulders and stood before the front door. He glanced back at the cellar door, his brows furrowed with worry. "Sorry, mom and dad," he spoke as if they were in the same room, "I’ll be okay, I promise."

The front door swung open, and then slammed shut, accompanied by a large wind. The cellar door opened, and his mother’s head peeked out.

“Sam?” she called out, “Sam, where are you?!”

She stepped out cautiously, looking around for Sam. Her heart skipped a beat, sinking down into her stomach—he was nowhere to be found.

~~

The fight had been going on longer than Anarcho-Vegan Man would have liked. Not that he was one to complain, but _it’s fucking hard to fight on level turf without arrows_.

Anarcho-Vegan Man cursed, trying to make every shot count. What he did not take into account were Serpent’s quick reflexes.

Serpent dashed around, almost literally like a snake in the grass, arriving upon Anarcho-Vegan Man with his claws threatening to slash him up into ribbons.

Anarcho-Vegan Man reached for more arrows, only to grasp at air. _Fuck, I’m out—are you kidding me?!_

Serpent’s eyes glazed over as he peered at the archer; his tongue flickered, giving him a sense of the air around him. His raptor-esque claws curled and scratched at the pavement as he lowered his body, ready to attack.

Anarcho-Vegan Man had to act quick, or he wasn't going to be alive and standing within the next few seconds. His eyes scanned the ground, noticing some still-practical arrows littered about. He took a quick second to look back up at Serpent, whose tail was swishing back and forth, before he took the risk and made a break for a couple of the nearby arrows.

Serpent belted out a high-pitched hiss before barreling straight for his opponent as if he were chasing down prey.

~~

Gunshot after gunshot thundered throughout the otherwise quiet city street. TrohFro zipped every which way he could, avoiding certain death and pain from being riddled with bullets.

Beckett fumed behind gnashing teeth; he was getting sick of the speedster, who was dodging every one of his shots.

TrohFro took cover behind an abandoned vehicle, breathing in harsh rasps. He clutched his chest as he leaned his head against the car’s metal door.

_I gotta get close to him without being pelted with bullets!_ He formulated a plan, and then squeezed his eyes shut. _I also need to stop wasting so much energy—shit!_ He felt mentally conflicted between needs and wants.

Beckett cursed his pistol as the trigger clicked, signalling that it needed to be reloaded.

TrohFro took this moment of silence to peek through the car’s window. A wave of relief washed over him as he saw Beckett engrossed with the ammo cartridge. He took the opportunity to bolt from his refuge and made a beeline for his opponent, socking him square in the jaw as he passed. He knew that it would cost him precious energy, but he needed the upper hand.

Beckett scowled and gingerly brought a hand to his aching jaw, his gun now holding no importance. "Fucker," he spat, the bitter taste in his mouth half blood and half malice. He turned his attention back to reloading, now fueled by an almost childish desire for revenge. He swapped the clips out and began firing at the green blur, hoping for a hit.

TrohFro ducked behind another car, his feet skidding to a stop as he dropped down into a slump. He groaned, gripping at his chest, as if to calm his sporadic beating heart, only to find his hand quivering, and his palms sweaty. He heaved in a breath. _I can't go on much longer like this..._ TrohFro could barely even hear himself think over his heart thumping in his ears. _Damn, why didn't I bring more fuel for myself!_ He hadn't realized the fight would go on this long.

_I just gotta conserve energy... just gotta go..._ he grimaced at the thought, _slower._

"Giving up so soon?" Beckett patronized the young hero. "Come out and fight me, cowardly bastard!"

Beckett’s call was swiftly answered by the speedster arriving with an almost reeling blow to the face. Beckett’s body was blown backward; he stumbled on his feet to retain his balance, and wiped away the tiny stream of blood that flowed from the corner of his mouth. He anticipated another jab to the face, but it never happened— _something wasn’t right._ Beckett turned his focus on the hero, his mouth twisting into a mocking grin.

TrohFro’s breathing came out in harsh rasps, his chest noticeably heaving with each wheeze. His shoulders quaked along with his entire body, which stumbled forward with each step. Sweat dripped from his brow in front of his creased, tired face.

“My, you don’t look so good,” Beckett smirked, folding his arms in front of his chest. He wagged a finger. “Ought to take better care of yourself, you know.”

“Sh-shut the hell up,” TrohFro spat, wearily. He was too exhausted for Beckett’s games. His ears began ringing, drowning out whatever snark Beckett had in store for him. He went to take another step, but his leg crumpled beneath his weight and he toppled to the ground. _Fuck, this isn't good,_ was his last thought as black spots danced in his vision, soon consuming it.

Beckett stood there, feeling the utmost confusion regarding what had just happened. His head tilted to one side, curious and waiting to see if TrohFro was going to move. A smirk grew on his face as he strolled over to the body.

He cautiously leaned down, picked up the hero's gloved hand, and pressed two fingers against his wrist. He tutted."Still alive—too bad." He let the wrist fall with a “thump,” stood back up, and cocked his gun. "But, I suppose I can remedy that now, _can't I_?"

An almost too familiar blur whirred by Beckett, setting him off balance. Squeezing his eyes shut, Beckett barely stopped himself from toppling down, and braced his weight the best he could. The strange gust left as soon as it arrived; Beckett’s glare turned in every direction, looking for the source of the disturbance. “What the _hell_ was that—” he froze, noticing an empty pocket of air in his grip where his pistol should have been.

“Get away from him, you freak!” A trembling voice shouted from behind him. He felt the cold muzzle of his own pistol pressed to the back of his neck. “Or I’ll fucking shoot!”

Beckett couldn’t help but chuckle, letting the tension leave his shoulders. “Cute,” he said, nonchalant, “but you don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

Sam gulped down the large lump in his throat before growling slightly, “I won’t let you hurt my brother!” he barked out in a quivering tone, “You won’t get away—” He became speechless when his captive disappeared before his eyes. Sam blinked, stunned, as he tried to excuse the event that had unfolded. Shaking from his wandering mind, he glanced around, but caught no sight of the Houdini-man. A pained groan from his brother caught his attention, and he rushed over to Joe’s aid.

Beckett peered around the side of the building he had taken refuge behind, inspecting the strange boy tending to the hero. “Brother?” He looked between the two; similarities became quickly, uncannily apparent as he compared them to each other. A grin perked up at his lips. “You don’t say,” he chuckled darkly, before returning to the shadows, a plan already brewing in his mind.

~~

TrohFro groaned awake. He felt a presence near him, which had disturbed his unconscious state. His vision went in and out as he tried to focus on the figure above him.

"Joe?" the voice muffled, as if it were underwater. “Joe!” it repeated, slowly becoming clearer. “Wake up, you need to eat this!”

Joe blinked, and groggily sat up. "Who...?"

"Joe it’s me—Sam."

“S-Sam…?” Joe put a hand to his head, as if to speed up the thought process, “Sam?!” His eyes shot open. “Wh-what are you doing here? Mom is going to kill me—it’s not safe for you!”

Sam averted Joe’s gaze and chewed his lip, “I couldn’t just sit and watch you get hurt. Plus, it’s not safe for you, either!” he added. He slung his backpack off his shoulders and whipped out a sandwich, chips and a soda for his brother.

Joe took them graciously, taking slow chews; there was just one thing that confused him greatly. “How…did you get here so fast?" Joe scarfed down the rest of the food, and gazed at Sam in stern confusion.

Sam paused for a moment; he sighed, hanging his head, he should probably just come out with it. “I, um. I’ve been meaning to tell you—” he paused to take a fortifying breath, “I…I kinda have super powers, too.”

Joe fell silent and still, only to be snapped back to reality when he nearly dropped his can of soda. He caught it in a fumble, and shook his head lightly. “I—uh—wha—but…” Collecting his thoughts, he remembered when he had visited his family, before all this mess had started. He recalled how swiftly Sam had snuck up on him. No one had ever been able to do that before, unless Sam—

“You have super speed, too?!”

Sam blushed, and a sheepish smile spread on his face. He nodded, giving a short laugh. “Y-yeah.” Sam glowed with pride and adoration. “I haven’t told mom or dad yet—I wanted you to be the first to know.”

Joe’s mouth was agape before it transformed into a grin. He was shocked, but happy for his younger brother. "Wow, I—I don't know what to say."

" _Then allow me to intervene._ "

The two brothers turned their gazes behind them, only to see a familiar figure striding towards them with a seemingly innocent composure, but with full intentions to harm.

"Sam, if you’re going to help—run!”

“But what about—”

“I’m fine now,” Joe pushed himself up, and stood his ground, “Go—I need you, so we can work together. You understand?”

Sam’s eyes glistened with a troubled look before he nodded reluctantly. “Okay…we’ll do this together.”

~~

"Shit, shit—hell, How do I stop this fucking thing?!" SuperTrick combed through his hair, beads of sweat falling from his brow. The timer was still counting down, now ticking towards the five-minute mark.

He paced around the small cabin, looking for something—anything—that could prevent the tank from exploding and destroying the entire block. From the control panel, dozens of buttons of every color blinked at him, almost mocking him.

His breath hitched and he hissed out a curse. He shook his head slowly, trying to force his mind awake and think of a way to stop the war machine.

“Dammit!” He slammed a fist near the control panel, feeling at his worst. _Why am I so useless?!_ He gripped the edges of the counter, shaking his head over and over, _I can’t do this—I can’t! I’m going to fail this entire city, shit!_ His eyes glanced over at large dent he’d made in the control panel. It sparked and flickered in its last moments of life. An idea crossed his mind. He may not have been an expert at defusing bombs— _but I’m damn good at breaking shit._

With a deep breath, he plunged his arm up to the shoulder into the insides of the machine, grabbing as many wires as possible, and ripped them out.

They crackled and sparked with their final breath of life, sending jolts of electricity up his arm and through his body.

SuperTrick glanced up at the clock, which stayed paused at **4 minutes, 26 seconds**. He held his breath, his hair standing on end, expecting the machine to blow up at any second. Instead, the screen powered off and the low hum of the tank’s engine faded as it lost power.

He stood, frozen, his eyes staring at the dark screen. Silence filled the tank’s cramped quarters. SuperTrick released a shaky, exasperated breath, his hands finally unclenching. He wiped away the sweat-damp tufts of hair that clung to his forehead as a grin stretched across his face. “I…I actually did it.”

He shakily made his way out of the tank and stood on top of it, trying to catch sight of Dr. Ego. “I’ll just…deal with him later. I need to make sure the others are holding up.” Leaving the immobilized tank in the dust, he flew back towards the bank with great haste.


	12. Leg Pain and Snarky Remarks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Ego gets his chance to seek revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The suspense continues! Stakes get higher! The boys _still_ manage to throw a little humour in!
> 
> As always, many thanks to [Syrupwit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit) for the beta work!
> 
> -CC

Anarcho-Vegan Man had only seconds to move before he was taken down by Serpent. Without a plan in his mind, Anarcho-Vegan Man dove out of the way—but not soon enough.

He grunted out a low hiss as Serpent’s sharp claws lacerated his chest. Anarcho-Vegan Man tumbled to the ground, gripping at the wound, feeling blood seep through his fingers. He scrunched up his face as he looked down at his red-stained palm. _Just a scratch, I’ll be fine—shit, that hurt though._

A low rumble emitted from Serpent’s throat as he stared down the archer. His tongue flickered persistently; he hunched low to the ground with his cobra-hood fanned out to its fullest.

‘Narch had never felt this nervous and fearful for his life before. He carefully backed away from Serpent and reached for an arrow in his quiver. He needed to get as far away as possible unless he wanted to suffer a more serious wound.

“And just where do you think you’re going? I’m not done shredding you apart,” Serpent seethed.

Anarcho-Vegan Man took a bigger step back, having completely forgotten that the creature had a voice. _Still human…-ish. Right._ He pulled out the arrow and the bowstring whined as it was pulled back; he stared straight into Serpent’s eyes, steadying his breathing as he readied himself to strike the huge reptilian.

Serpent remained still, not even blinking as he assessed the archer.

‘Narch knew that this wasn’t going anywhere good—the calm before the storm and all—so he steadied his aim, hoping that this shot would be the one to finally do some damage. He inhaled a breath, released the arrow, and then exhaled.

Serpent cried out in pain at first; ‘Narch grinned, elated, before Serpent looked down at his arm, gripped the arrow, and pulled it out with ease.

Anarcho-Vegan Man frowned. _It barely punctured his hide._

Serpent snapped the arrow in half with one hand, smirking as he did so. “Nice trick. Now watch this.” He grounded his legs before unhinging his jaw with a low hiss.

Anarcho-Vegan Man stood, petrified and unable to calculate what the man was doing—until it hit him: _Don’t cobras spit venom?_ He’d seen what had happened to the two cops earlier, and the thought that he might share their fate made his stomach roil.

The creature tensed up, preparing to strike, but an orange blur rammed into him and slammed him into the nearest building, effectively cutting him off.

SuperTrick tossed the concussed villain to the pavement and lowered himself to the ground.

All ‘Narch could do was blink as he tried to process the situation, before he exhaled in relief.

"Sorry I'm late," 'Trick spoke, ashamed. "Tanks are a lot harder to take down than you would think."

~~

Sam and TrohFro had already split up and moved far away from Beckett. From what they had learned, he wasn’t fast enough to go after both speedsters, so teleportation was his only option.  
 _So, who’s it going to be?_ TrohFro flashed a glance at Sam, noticing the gun he had stolen away from Beckett earlier. _He wouldn’t go after a kid…would he?_

Beckett vanished into air. 

TrohFro reacted quickly, standing his ground and waiting for the man to appear before him, but instead, he saw a figure appear behind Sam and restrain him by throwing its arms around around Sam’s chest.

“Unless you want me to snap your neck, you’re going to hand me the gun, nice and quietly. Do you understand?”

Sam struggled against Beckett’s grip with ease, then he realized: _This guy’s not tough at all…_ “Tell you what,” Sam spoke, keeping the gun away from the crook as best he could, “how about no, bitch!” With that, he landed a sharp mule-kick into the criminal’s shin.

Beckett crumpled to the ground with a yelp of pain, then gave a scowling glance at the young boy as the shock subsided. “So, won’t give me the gun, will you? Suit yourself.”

As he spoke, he reached down towards his pant leg, seizing the dagger held in a hidden ankle holster. Beckett, with a loud grunt, thrust the knife into Sam’s calf and ripped it back out.

Sam didn’t notice the dagger until it was too late; he hollered in pain as he fell to the ground, his wounded leg unable to support him. His eyes squeezed shut from the cringe-inducing pain and he felt blood drip out of the wound; his eyes swelled with tears.

Beckett stood up, the pain in his own leg quickly subsiding. He smirked at his job well done before wiping the blood from his dagger on to his pant leg.

“ _You son of a bitch!_ ”

Beckett heard the familiar voice roar from behind him; he turned quickly, only to be met by a fist making full contact with his face. Beckett cried out and staggered back. He cupped a hand over his mouth, tasting the bittersweet blood collect in his mouth. He coughed and spat it out—he never did like the taste of his own blood. He glanced back at TrohFro, who was looking especially irate as he lifted back his fist to take another shot at Beckett. 

The blow was a miss, swinging at nothing as the target had once again vanished into thin air.

Troh growled, furious, “Get back here, you coward, so I can punch your stupid face in! You won’t get away with this!”

A soft groan interrupted his shouting.

_Sam!_ Troh would find the bastard later. First, he had to take care of his brother’s leg—which, as of right now, didn’t look good at all.

~~

SuperTrick and Anarcho-Vegan Man trudged along the streets. Serpent was slung over SuperTrick’s shoulder, still knocked out—for the time being. SuperTrick searched around for a safe place to keep Serpent in check, so they could move on to help TrohFro next. They weren’t too worried, though—TrohFro was usually pretty good taking care of himself.

“There has to be an armored van or something that the cops left behind,” SuperTrick spoke with slight hopefulness. _They abandoned everything else._ “We can’t risk having him break out of another police car and going on another rampage.”

Anarcho-Vegan Man nodded, silently looking around as well. He was pretty worn out by this point and just wanted this to all be over with. But, as the heroes’ luck would have it, this would not be the case.

Ego appeared behind them, slinking out from a dark back alley. He glanced up, a smouldering, deadly gleam in his eye. His mouth twitched into a frown—SuperTrick had made it out of the detonating tank alive. He growled in annoyance at the sight of his minion, passed out and being lugged over SuperTrick’s shoulder. “I knew that idiot couldn’t hold his own.”

Tired of hiding in the shadows, he strode out, advancing upon the two heroes. He withdrew a light silver pistol—the one he called “Lucky”—and aimed it towards the archer. He grinned with excitement, pulling back the trigger.

‘Narch and SuperTrick had no time to react when a bullet whizzed by their heads. They twisted around to discover none other than Dr. Ego ambling towards them, the smoking gun still in his hand.

SuperTrick’s eyes bored into the gunman’s. He wasn’t too surprised that Wentz had survived. 

“Dammit, I knew I should’ve looked around better,” SuperTrick mumbled, giving Anarcho-Vegan man an apologetic look.

It had been a while since Andy had seen Wentz; he cringed with guilt upon seeing the one-eyed man, feral and ready to kill. _This is all my fault._ His gaze sunk downwards to the ground. _I have to fix this._

“Trick, go take care of Serpent and find Troh—I need to take care of this.”

Trick's eyes were wide. “Are you crazy? He has guns—you have arrows! No, I’m staying here to help you out—”

“Trick,” ‘Narch begged. “This is my fault—I need to do this.”

Patrick was still highly concerned for his friend, but knew, without a doubt, that it was always a bad idea to argue with him when he got into these stubborn moods. Trick sighed and nodded slowly; he flew halfway down the street before glancing back one last time. _You better stay alive, you idiot._ Then he was out of sight.

An awkward tension rose between the two left on the streets. Ego fixed his gaze onto the archer, the pistol clutched in his hand; Anarcho-Vegan Man only stared on despondently, the remorse from that dreadful day boiling up inside of him. He was shaken out of his thoughts as Ego began to shout.

“You’re going to pay dearly for what you’ve done—”

“Wait, Wentz—”

The other gun, “Baby,” clicked in Ego’s hands, ”Shut it, Hurley!” he yelled behind gritted teeth. “The name is Dr. Ego.”

_Fantastic, he already knows who I am._ “Look, I just want to talk. I know I wronged you.” He felt an aching ting of remorse. “Dr. Ego, I’m sor—”

“I didn’t come here to talk about feelings.” Ego spat back at him, “I came here for one thing—and that’s to end your life.”

Anarcho-Vegan Man swallowed the lump in his throat and sighed morosely. “Then I guess you leave me no choice.” He reached behind him, pulling an arrow from his quiver. “I can’t let you hurt these people and this city; I’m taking you out.”

~~

SuperTrick continued to search the streets for an armored van among the rubble and debris. He was worried about Andy, but the lack of gunfire kept his nausea and worry at bay. He shifted the (hopefully not literally) dead weight of Serpent around on his shoulder, trying to find a position that would make it somewhat comfortable to fly.

SuperTrick eventually came across an abandoned police van. Its roof had been dented by the pile of debris that sat atop it, but it was otherwise usable. He pried its back doors open with his free hand and tossed the villain inside with a grunt. “Now stay here and think about what you've done,” he said with a tired grin, and his chest puffed out as he slammed the doors.

He surveyed the rubble laying out on the street before grabbing a sizable pipe and tying it around the handles to the holding compartment. Giving his makeshift lock a solid tug, he told himself that it would do, and left to go help however he could.

~~

Joe rummaged through the pockets on his utility belt, looking for something that could stop the bleeding. He was relieved as he pulled out a ball of gauze and began to unravel it. “Alright Sammy, this is all I got right now, but it’ll stop the bleeding. Hang in there, kiddo.”

Sam chewed his lip and nodded as he squeezed his eyes shut. Joe wrapped up the wound to the best of his ability and tied the ends in a knot. He nodded to himself in satisfaction and looped an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable. Can you help me out with your other leg?”

Sam nodded once more, “I—I think so. Joe, I’m so sorry.”

“You did your best.” He grunted as he held Sam’s weight, trying to slow down to his brother’s limping pace. “Now you need to rest until I can get you to a hospital.”

“But, _Joe_ ,” Sam whined, somehow finding the energy despite the blood loss that was making his face deathly pale, “you can’t fight that guy alone! He was kicking your ass when I got here!”

If Joe weren’t busy holding up Sam, he’d be taking out the villain right now, specifically that bastard Beckett. _Who the hell does he think he is?_ He placed Sam down behind a parked car, placing the backpack underneath his head for comfort. “Stay here, alright? I’ll figure something out.”

He ran off before Sam could interject. Troh had to find Beckett; he had a few things to tell the freak, and they mostly involved his fists. He walked on, cautiously, knowing Beckett could be anywhere at any moment.

~~

Beckett strolled through the deserted alleyways of what was left of the downtown area, twirling his knife in his hand as he went. He needed to keep a low profile—he had only incapacitated one out of two nuisances, after all—but he was hoping that there would be a quick meal nearby. God knew he’d need it if this fighting were to continue.

He stifled a poorly-timed yawn, which threw him off the rhythm of his knife-twirling. He could only watch on in horror as the knife dropped, seemingly in slow motion, and hit the ground with an echoing clang.

The clamor of metal crashing to the ground caught the immediate attention of TrohFro. His body twisted in the direction of the noise before he sped off toward the source. 

Beckett scrambled to pick up the blade and tuck it away, cursing under his breath.

"I'm gonna open up a can of whoop ass on you, Beckett."

Beckett turned, only to come face-to-face with a very furious TrohFro. Beckett cleared his throat, slowly backing away while regaining his calm composure. "Oh please, I was defending myself." he deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

TrohFro scowled, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. “You _stabbed his fucking leg_ , asshole!” He stared him dead in the eye with his nostrils flared.

Beckett tilted his head with an innocent smile and shrugged. “Yeah, but he technically started it, _so_ —” A forceful blow to the gut cut him off, winding him and sending him stumbling back into a wall.

TrohFro took a step toward Beckett. “I've had _enough_ of your games! You’re nothing but a guy who’s sick in the head.” He was now staring the other man down. “And no matter how many times you run away from me, I will find you again, and I’ll keep pummeling your ass until you give up.” He seethed through gnashed teeth, “So, are you going to come quietly, or are we going to have to go with the former?”

Beckett’s mouth twitched into a lopsided smirk, despite the pain that seemed to radiate throughout his body. “Hate to break it to you, but I'm not going _anywhere_ with you.” He knew that none of this mockery was helping his case, but he also knew that the hero was running on fumes. If he could find an opening, he might be able to win this.

"My brother is bleeding, you really think you can get out of this?" TrohFro was fuming now; while he was always the one who joked around, injured, innocent people were not in his line of humor. "You're going to pay for what you did to him!"

“I figured you’d say that. For the fastest man alive, you're rather slow and predictable.” Beckett leaned against the wall, despite his aching body's protests, and inspected his gloves for scratches and tears.

TrohFro was practically foaming at the mouth, his teeth grinding against each other. If he hadn’t had enough of Beckett’s attitude and demeanor by now, then he was officially finished with it at this very instant. In fact, he was so done that he couldn't even express himself in words, so he settled for letting out a primal growl as he wound up for a punch.

In one fluid movement, Beckett ducked down to avoid the blow and produced the knife, once again, from his ankle holster before springing back up. He brandished the blade defensively.

TrohFro backed away. Normally, he would be able to just reprimand the assailant, throw in some rapid punches and be done, but this time was different; this time he was growing weak and tired. His energy was low and his famed speed was slowed to a snail's pace. He knew he needed to replenish his energy, but with his brother bleeding and this maniac with a knife on the defensive, TrohFro had to work fast—even if he couldn't be.

Without any warning, TrohFro threw another punch, aiming for Beckett's jawline. This was answered with a thrust of the knife from Beckett, both attacks missing the other target. Troh sighed in frustration. _This isn't going to get us anywhere...Stave, buddy, I might need your help._

He heard a small purr of agreement coming from the fro.

TrohFro went to punch again, or pretended to, causing Beckett to react with another thrust of his knife. But instead of hitting the hero like expected, his arm was tugged and yanked away by TrohFro's living fro. 

Stave gave the attacker a low, furious growl. There was no way some pale dude was going to hurt his friend.

"Come on, Beckett," TrohFro smirked, growing confident once again. "Why so predictable?"

Beckett hissed as he struggled to get his arm free. The hair was a lot stronger than it looked; plus, the tangled mess had his hand with the knife clutched in its curls as well. There was only one option left for him if wanted to be free from this idiot, and he only had enough energy to perform the trick one last time. Beckett smirked at the hero, a plan forming in his mind. With his free hand, he grabbed the hero by the collar of his uniform. "What were you saying about predictable?" He sneered as the air around the duo seemed to ripple.

TrohFro didn't have time to react before the ground was swept from beneath him. He forced his eyes shut and clenched his teeth to quell the wave of nausea that had washed over him. Even Stave recoiled with a small whimper.

After the initial shock, he realized that his feet were planted and a strong wind was howling around him. The relief of being grounded was only temporary, as he found himself standing on a ledge. TrohFro's heart sunk into his stomach as he glanced down behind him at the concrete streets below.

“I believe this is where we say goodbye,” Beckett announced from behind him, before pushing him away and over the ledge of the rooftop.

TrohFro toppled off the ledge, his body rushing downward toward the concrete below. The wind roared in his ears, incapacitating his senses. He fixated on the sky above, a silhouette of Beckett in view, waving to the hero once before vanishing once again.

It was at that moment that TrohFro realized his imminent doom and began to hyperventilate. The air from his lungs left his body in a large gasping breath; nothing came out, not even a scream. His arms and legs flailed in some sort of attempt to stop the fall, but failed him miserably.

This was it. He was going to die.


	13. Ready To Go Home (Get Me Out Of My Super Suit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Ego embraces his inner child by throwing rocks (and tantrums).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The journey is reaching a close! We can't stop making bad puns! I can't stop making the chapter notes in this tone!
> 
> As always, thanks to [Syrupwit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit) for the beta work!
> 
> -CC

SuperTrick flew low to the ground, looking out for TrohFro. He wasn’t exactly sure where his friend had run off to, but he knew that he was headed in the right direction. He caught a few sounds of fighting and yelling and flew towards them, until movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

He stopped and grounded himself as he peered at the body sitting up against the wall, which was shaking slightly. His mouth went agape when he realized who it was.

“Sam?!”

The figure looked up, revealing SuperTrick’s assumption to be correct.

“Patrick…” Sam smiled weakly. He tried his best to ease himself to his feet, but failed and fell back to the ground with a sharp cry of pain.

SuperTrick immediately rushed over to Sam’s side, wrapping an arm around Sam’s shoulder to keep him steady. “What the hell happened?” He didn’t care about keeping up his humble persona as he assessed Sam for injury. A dark patch on Sam’s pant leg and a bloodied wrap caught his attention, and he muttered a few select curses under his breath.

Sam looked down at his wound and grimaced. “Uh. I tried to help?” he offered, trying to smile despite his pain.

SuperTrick gave him a look between disbelief and concern. “You could have _died_ -” He paused as something clicked in his head. “And where’s your brother?”

Sam shook his head, "I-I don't know." He chewed on his lip, trying to think. "He was fighting that pale guy and then they just disappeared—he poofed!" Sam emphasised with his hand, still trying to wrap his head around the ordeal. "And I wouldn’t have died by the way! I can ru—” Sam gasped loudly, nearly choking on his own breath; his eyes dilated in horror as he looked up into the distance. “S-shit, look!" Sam shouted shakily, jabbing a finger to the building behind the hero.

SuperTrick reacted with a turn of his neck in the direction; he cursed as he saw TrohFro's figure plummeting to the ground. "Fuck, stay here—don't move—I got him!" he fumbled with his words before flying off, set on saving his friend before he had a chance become one with the sidewalk.

SuperTrick outstretched his arms, at the ready, and braced himself for the impact of catching TrohFro.

TrohFro landed with a loud **thump** in SuperTrick’s arms; the impact caused him to lurch downward a bit, but he quickly straightened himself out. SuperTrick breathed a huge sigh of relief. “I swear this is the second time today I’ve had to save one of you.”

It took only half a second for Joe to react to the familiar voice and realize he wasn’t dead. “'Trick?” TrohFro glanced upward to confirm his suspicions.

SuperTrick gave him a worried smile as he floated them both gently to the ground.“Glad I caught you in time.” SuperTtrick's face relaxed into a bigger smile. He stood on the ground, TrohFro still in his arms. He was wary about placing TrohFro down on his feet; TrohFro's body was weak and shaking in SuperTrick’s arms, but TrohFro was stubborn and struggled back onto his feet despite SuperTrick's protests.

“Joe, you’re hurt!” he was going to continue his infamous nagging, when he remembered something else, “Speaking of which, why is Sam here? What happened to his leg—” he paused once again, “And what the hell were you doing on top of that roof—”

“Hey man, give me a minute, alright?” TrohFro replied as he struggled to regain his strength. He had nearly died, and was now being bombarded with questions—there was a lot to consider at the moment. “Look, get an ambulance to pick up Sam, and I’ll explain.”

SuperTrick sighed with a small groan before taking out a cheap disposable phone and dialing for an ambulance.

TrohFro walked over to Sam and, with every bit of his strength, scooped up him into his arms.

SuperTrick hung up promptly. “They’re on their way, should be here in less than five minutes—now, explain please?” He turned to give TrohFro a stern glance just as his teammate walked back over.

TrohFro turned his gaze to the ground and took particular interest in toeing stray pieces of rubble around as he began to explain everything that SuperTrick had missed. He started with Sam's newfound powers and worked his way through the whole ordeal, ending with the fact that he had just gotten pushed off of a building.

Sam butted in occasionally, correcting TrohFro on minor details, such as who had kicked more ass during that short time frame where they were actually _winning_ against Beckett.

SuperTrick was silent the whole time, listening closely to every detail, even though he was completely flabbergasted by Sam having super speed as well. “Well,” he started, “it is possible.” He caught his eyes glancing at Sam’s leg wound and winced. _And hopefully it still is._

They were interrupted by the wail of the ambulance. The street had too much debris for the vehicle to get close, but a pair of EMTs carrying a stretcher approached the trio. The only proper source of light came from the headlights of the ambulance.

TrohFro explained to the medical team about what happened to the “poor boy they found,” insinuating that _Samuel_ had most likely been stabbed by a robber during the chaos.

As this went on, SuperTrick found himself staring up at the building TrohFro was pushed off of; he hummed in thought. “Troh,” he spoke, grabbing TrohFro’s attention, “stay here and take care of the situation. I need to check something out.” He didn't bother to hear TrohFro's reply before flying off to the same rooftop that TrohFro had been on just minutes before.

It didn't take the hero long before he spotted a form slumped against the rooftop entrance. He approached the figure cautiously, opening his mouth to issue a warning, but the figure spoke up before he could even start.

"Let me guess—you're here to arrest me," Beckett drawled as he pushed himself to his feet, "Maybe beat me to a bloody pulp? But I'm not here to put up a fight, so I'd really appreciate it if you didn't take that second option to heart." To prove his intentions, he tossed his knife towards SuperTrick and put his hands behind his head.

SuperTrick shook his head and sighed, promptly pulling a pair of handcuffs from his waistband. “You’re lucky I’m not the type to kill,” he responded, as he turned Beckett around and quickly cuffed his wrists. “What you did was horrible—all three of you. You stabbed a kid in the leg, for Christ’s sake.” He shoved Beckett forward, earning a small hiss from the man. SuperTrick picked up the knife and stowed away in a holster on his belt, “But, no one deserves death.” He hoisted Beckett over his shoulder and took off, “Just be glad it was me that found you- and not my other two friends. You would’ve been dead a long while back.”

Beckett huffed but didn’t resist, favouring instead to go prone in SuperTrick’s grasp. “You know,” he said after a moment of contemplation, watching the ground as he was being shuffled about, “if you were any shorter, I think I’d be at danger of road rash—” He yelped suddenly as SuperTrick’s grip loosened on him, nearly dropping him to the ground.

SuperTrick smirked slightly. “Whoops, my _short_ arms almost dropped ya.” He grinned as he stepped onto the ground, “That would’ve been catastrophic for you, huh?”

Needless to say, Beckett remained quiet after that.

TrohFro turned his head away, his eyes meeting a grocery store across the street.

"Wait there a second," he spoke up to SuperTrick, earning a confused glance in return.

"I don't think the store owners will mind if I grab some of their food, right?"

~~

Arrows and bullets whirred and zipped by each man as both tried to cause fatal injury to the other.

Anarcho-Vegan Man had suffered a couple of bullets, mostly to the shoulder area and, luckily, to other non-lethal areas. But, as pained as he was with every draw of the bow, he knew he couldn't stop. Dr. Ego had to be taken down—alive or dead—for the sake of the city and its inhabitants.

Anarcho-Vegan Man was pinned behind an upturned truck. As much as he hated having to retreat, he had no choice in the matter. He was down to about three or so useable arrows and had to make the count. He carefully glanced through the truck's windows, noticing a few scattered arrows around that could be salvaged—but there was also a very pissed off gunman shouting obscenities, looking for Anarcho-Vegan Man- which meant a very high risk of being shot while grabbing up stray arrows.

In a way, he really wished that SuperTrick had stayed behind to help. At least SuperTrick didn't have to worry about running out of strength, or flight, or any of that garbage. _Sometimes_ , Anarcho-Vegan Man thought, _it really sucked not having powers._

"What are you doing out there? Hiding from me?" Ego yelled, taunting the hero to come out of his hiding. "That's real cowardly of you! I'm sure the _innocent folks_ living here would love to know how their “savior” ran like a child afraid of the dark—"

Ego was abruptly cut off as an arrow whirred past his head. The look of surprise on his face was quickly replaced with a devious smirk.

"Now I've got you," he grinned as he sauntered over toward the direction from which the arrow had flown. Ego cracked an ominous smirk as he readied both guns in hand. Anarcho-Vegan Man may have been low on shots, but Ego was at the ready with more than enough ammo. It seemed he was more prepared than the hero. _Killing this idiot will be no trouble at all._ He sneered at the thought.

Anarcho-Vegan Man stared on, waiting for Ego to get a little closer. He had wasted a shot, but it was the only way he could get the gunner to get closer in range to him, and he was falling right into Anarcho-Vegan Man's trap. When Ego was close enough, he would have no choice but to take him out. The man was dangerous, and after all the chaos he caused, he did not seem worthy enough of a life in Anarcho-Vegan Man's eyes.

But, as the villain strode closer Anarcho-Vegan Man felt a strange guilt in the pit of his stomach. He remembered the man who killed his father, and how Trick made him realize that assassinating the now old mafia man would only make his heart grow colder and more distant. _Was Ego really any different than the mafia man?_

Anarcho-Vegan Man's hands shook as he pulled back the bow, ready to take Ego's life. _Would he really be any different from Wentz if he were to kill?_

His hands loosened on the bow as he placed it down. He couldn't do it. He had made a promise not to kill any more—even if Ego was deserving.

"Shit," he cursed quietly, "now what?" The only other option was to injure Ego without causing serious bodily harm. He took a deep breath, moved his aim from Ego’s core, and steadied it at the other man’s shoulder. He knew that the smaller target left more room for error, but it was his best shot.

"Hiding is useless from me! I know you're low on ammo; you can't possibly think you still have a chance. It's time to destroy you, just like you destroyed my life—" Ego’s monologue was cut short by his own carnal shriek of pain; an arrow had pierced his shoulder. The jolt made him drop one of his guns in shock, and his now free hand clutched at the wound, trying to dislodge the arrow from his flesh.

Anarcho-Vegan Man took the opportunity to put some distance between himself and the gunman.

Ego grunted as he snapped the arrow near the spade, hissing out a breath of pain through gritted teeth. He was sure that the movement tore some ligaments. He would take care of the bladed part later. _I have other things to attend to._ Ego let the injured arm sway gently to his side; as long as he had another useable arm left, it was all he needed to take out the powerless hero.

One more arrow, one last chance. Anarcho-Vegan Man only had to take out Ego's other arm, disarming him, which would hopefully make the villain easier to take out. Walking as lightly as he could in his heavy boots, he tip-toed around a car, withdrawing an arrow, ready to shoot. He drew back on the bow, aimed at the gun-wielding arm. Anarcho-Vegan Man squinted, locking on target. _That's right, stay still and—_ He shot the arrow, just as Ego turned to look right at him. There was a hitch in Anarcho-Vegan Man's breath as the arrow flew right towards Ego's hand, which he had moved in an attempt to shield himself.

Ego's grip on the gun had loosened, causing the arrow to knock it clean out of his hands. The gun skittered across the street away from its owner, leaving Ego defenseless, or so it would seem.

"Okay, not what I wanted to do, but that works out fine." Anarcho-Vegan Man winced at the terrible shot; he had really wanted to pierce Dr. Ego’s hand, but this would have to do. Out of useable arrows, he tossed the bow and empty quiver down. His legs spread out into a fighting stance, and he brought his fists up to his face despite the protests of his battle wounds. His eyes locked on, presenting a cold stare toward the villain.

Ego's face distorted, bewildered for a moment, before he began to roar with laughter.

"So, you think you can take me on?" His voice grated as he lifted up his good fist. "Then what are you waiting for, little man? I can take you on with one hand."

Anarcho-Vegan Man fought the urge to roll his eyes as he approached the other man. “You talk a lot of shit for a man who wears platform boots, you know that?”

Ego had had enough of this stupid banter. “You’ll regret that!” Raising his fist, he swung out at Anarcho-Vegan Man’s face, only to hit at the air. He huffed out before going in for another punch; Anarcho-Vegan Man masterfully blocked it.

“You know, things would be a lot easier if you would just turn yourself in right now,” Anarcho-Vegan Man said, rather calmly considering the situation he was in. “Don’t be an idiot,” he added. “I don’t want to have to fight you.”

“That makes one of us,” Ego retaliated, thrusting his knee upward and nailing the hero right in the gut.

Anarcho-Vegan Man all but doubled over, winded from the blow. It didn’t take him long to recover, though his stomach continued to ache. He blocked Ego’s next blow—a sloppy punch directed at his head—and countered with a low kick that swept under the villain’s feet.

Ego’s eyes went comically wide as he hurled onto the ground. Ego hissed in agonizing pain; his back had landed on a pile of sharp rubble. He had no time to get back up, as Anarcho-Vegan Man quickly flipped him over and put Ego’s hands behind his back—and was trapped underneath the hero’s boot. He spat some dirt out of his mouth and glanced at his surroundings -- there was a palm-sized piece of rubble within arm’s reach. He smirked to himself and began formulating a plan.

Above him, Anarcho-Vegan Man grumbled to himself as he began feeling at his utility belt with his free hand. He could’ve _sworn_ he’d put the handcuffs back on after he last washed his uniform.

“Catch!” a familiar voice cried out.

Anarcho-Vegan Man glanced in the direction of the sound just in time to grab the pair of handcuffs that was flying towards him. He noticed a red-clad person hovering in the distance, as well as a green-suited counterpart, trailing behind. _Patrick and Joe._

“You’ve really got to stop leaving your cuffs behind. I’m not always going to have extras, you know.” SuperTrick smirked slightly, shaking his head.

It was then that Anarcho-Vegan Man realized that he had used the hand that was pinning Ego’s wrists to catch the handcuffs.

It was moments too late for Anarcho-Vegan Man to react. Everything seemed to slow in his mind, including reaction time, as Ego reared the large rock back and hurled it at his head.

“Goddammit, pay attention!” a voice shouted from beside them. A blur of green flashed by them, catching the rock just before it smashed into Anarcho-Vegan Man’s head.

TrohFro held the rock in his hand, glaring at Ego in disgust before tossing the rubble behind him. “What are you, twelve?” he muttered, grabbing the villain’s hands with a tight vice. Anarcho-Vegan Man snapped out of his daze and quietly cuffed Ego as TrohFro held the villain down in his place.

“A rock, Peter? Are you _serious_ right now?! How am I working for this man?” Beckett spat out suddenly, his head hanging in shame. He would have covered his face with his hands, but they were still currently tied up.

“For once I have to agree with you,” SuperTrick mumbled back. “By the way, you _did_ work for him. You’re still not getting out of this,” he added after a beat, in a more authoritative voice.

~~

Just minutes after Anarcho-Vegan Man had Ego restrained for good, the police returned to the scene with a high-security van. The cops were greeted by the three heroes talking to each other in hushed tones, with the two villains in their grips.

A senior officer made her way through the wreckage, keeping a respectable distance away from the supers. She surveyed the scene carefully before she spoke, even though she had the attention of the Fall Out Avengers. (The two villains were acting oblivious to her presence, preferring to exchange venomous looks with each other.) 

“Are these two secure?” She gave a nod towards the two criminals, a cautious hand hovering above her gun holster, ready to make any move necessary.

SuperTrick gave a reassuring nod and smiled as warmly as he could. “Yeah, they’re secure. It’s alright, officer.” He tugged on the cuffs, pulling back Ego a bit and earning a gravelly yelp from the gunman.

The senior officer nodded, walking with more confidence towards the heroes.

As Anarcho-Vegan Man and TrohFro helped the officers toss the two criminals in the security van; TrohFro also mentioned the whereabouts of the third criminal. SuperTrick stood back and watched, his eyes glossed over, a smile burning on his face. He sighed, relieved for the first time in months.

“It’s over,” he told himself, brimming with pride. “It’s finally all over.”


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick check up on Sam, the young hero, entails both good news and bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, as with all fics, this one comes to an end. We had great fun writing and sharing this with you all, and we hope that you enjoyed the journey with us.  
> Once again I'd like to thank [Syrupwit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit) for doing the beta work for us and making it presentable!  
> (And yes we're maybe looking into subsequent fics so don't be too sad)
> 
> -CC

Around four days had passed since the full-on attack on New Chicago and its citizens. Reconstruction of the destroyed areas downtown had begun, but the devastation had left many people displaced or jobless. The aftershock had left the majority of the cityfolk in an almost emotionless state of shock; however, there was work to be done. They braved through the day, trying their best to move on with their lives as they were before. A few had already started on construction and clean-up. The damage was almost unreal; even after nearly a week of clean-up, truckload after truckload of rubble was still being bulldozed off the street.

As for our heroes, there were still a few scars that needed healing. They had decided to put their crime fighting on hiatus while Andy recovered from his bullet wounds, as well as Patrick's sore muscles and persistent aching. Despite all the physical wounds the group had to wait on, there was just one more detail that needed to be amended—Sam. 

At this moment, Patrick was driving, Andy in the passenger seat, with the intention of meeting up with Joe at the hospital. Between visiting his brother and trying to clean the damage done to his record store, Joe had barely slept the past couple of days—and refused to do so until Sam was completely healed. Patrick had thought it was a bit much for one man to take care of on his own, and Joe had refused any help, until today.

“So what, he just sounded really anxious over the phone?” Andy inquired. He didn’t get the full details of the conversation, except that it was imperative the two get to the hospital A.S.A.P.

“Look, all Joe said was that the doctor revealed some good news, bad news junk, and it’s got him all worried. I’m figuring it has to do something with Sam’s leg,” Patrick stated as he made a cautious turn into the hospital’s busy parking lot. Thanks to the attack on the town, every hospital and clinic was filled to the brim with patients—which also meant it was nearly impossible for Patrick to find parking. He bit his lip in concentration as he searched for an empty space.

After minutes of searching, Patrick settled for a tight squeeze at the far end of the lot. “Finally,” he muttered under his breath, slamming the car door behind him.

He and Andy walked side by side in momentary silence until they finally reached the front doors.

“Do you know what room he’s in?”

“Um…” Andy thought, “Somewhere on the third floor? Let’s go ask someone.”

Patrick nodded wordlessly and strolled up to a nearby reception desk. Andy waited behind, unceremoniously surveying his surroundings. 

Patrick jogged back to Andy a few seconds later. “Sam’s in room 314. Let’s move before Joe gets on us for being late.”

Andy nodded and pressed the button for the nearest elevator. “Well, he did say as soon as possible. He can’t get too pissed with us.”

“True, but he did sound worried over the phone,” Patrick replied, as the elevator door closed behind them. “Plus, with the way he’s been lately, adding more stress on him probably isn’t a great idea to begin with.”

“Well, we’re here anyway,” Andy said as the elevator “dinged” and the doors reopened. As the pair made their way down the hallway, he continued, “And we’re not purposely trying to give him more stress. This is literally as fast as we could get here.” He shook his head, stopping at room 314, and gingerly knocked on the door.

Within a second, the door opened and they were face-to-face with a fatigued Joe.

“Hey,” Joe said, putting on a weary but genuine smile. Heavy bags were under his wide eyes, and his fingers twitched against the doorknob. “Glad you guys could make it.”

Patrick paused in silence for a moment, before shaking his head and sighing heavily. "Joe, please tell me when the last time you slept was. And please tell me it was last night or something reasonable."

"Uhh..." Joe had to think on it. "It's been about...three or four days, give or take?" He smiled slyly. "Why do you ask?" He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"Joe, are you _crazy_? You can't just skip out on sleep like that, you'll ruin yourself!" Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose. "How are you even _standing_ right now?!"

"Pipe down, will ya?" Joe glared furiously, "Between you and my mother—Christ!" he sighed. "Look, I've been drinking coffee, so I’m fine—"

"Caffeine doesn't constitute or excuse anything! And what about your job?!"

"My dad's got it taken care of—it was _his_ company first, you know."

Andy mentally rolled his eyes as the _old married couple_ continued to bicker, and walked past them.

"Hey Sam, how are you feeling?" he asked, putting on a more cheerful smile.

Sam gave a weak smile in response; he was drowsy from the painkillers he had been prescribed, but happy to see familiar faces nonetheless. “Could be worse, I think. Did you sneak any food in? The stuff here _sucks_.” He nodded to the empty plate on the bedside table with a grimace. “I get Joe to eat it for me, so the doctors won’t complain.” He paused, a spark of excitement in his eyes. “Hey, can you sign my wrap? The kids at school will be _so_ jealous! _Please_ , Andy?”

Andy laughed with a shake of his head. “Sure, kiddo. Got a marker? And Patrick made sure to find you the greasiest, most disgusting burger in the city on our way here. I’m sure he’ll give it to you if you ask nicely. And if he ever stops nagging your brother, of course.” He paused thoughtfully before loudly adding, “Isn’t that right, Patrick?”

Patrick glanced over, arms crossed over his chest, "What, Andy?" His voice was a little harsh.

Andy motioned to the bag of food, "Kid needs to eat, 'Trick."

Patrick flushed, "Right." and tossed over the food to Andy, who handed it to Sam.

Sam licked his lips and rubbed his hands together, hungrily. "Yes, thank you guys!" Soon after, he began to scarf down his food.

"So, Joe, while Sam's eating, why don't you tell us what's going on with his leg?" Andy lowered his voice to a hush. "Along with his powers?"

Joe gulped, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Well, that’s the thing.” He dropped his voice to a mumble so Sam wouldn’t have to hear the news—again. “A pretty major tendon was cut, so chances are he’ll never be at a hundred percent again. But he’s young, and he’s gonna be in physio as soon as he’s outta here, so it’s not like he’ll need a cane or anything.” He shrugged and crossed his arms. “He’s probably not going to be able to _run_ run, you know? He’ll still be a great track star or whatever, but as far as the hero business—” he shook his head, his voice dropping even lower, “I doubt it, guys.”

Patrick's face contorted in a pained look as he stared solemnly at Sam, who was still distracted by his food. The poor kid had just discovered his powers not long ago, and now they had been stripped away from him, just like that. Patrick sighed, unsure about the right words to say. "Shit, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Patrick." Sam didn't want pity, or anyone to feel sorry for him. "I know I won't be able to run at top speeds like Joe or even beat him at racing like I always wanted." The last bit was a sad mumble. "But I'm happy, I really am."

Now Joe was confused, " Happy?"

"Yeah." Sam brightened up with a huge grin, "I saved my brother and I got to kick some serious butt! I never got to be the hero before." His look softened, “I won’t be able to use my power to its fullest but, I helped save the city, right?”

Patrick smiled softly. “Of course,” he murmured, touched by how maturely Sam was taking this situation.

“Most kids your age wouldn’t be as brave as you’re being right now, Sam.” Andy quickly added.

“Yeah.” Joe smiled, “We’re really proud of you, lil’ bro.”

Sam was beaming again, his mood brightened from all the high praise—especially from his brother, who he looked up to the most. “Thanks,” he said before scarfing down the last bite of his burger. “So this means I’m an honorary member of the team, right?” He paused to shove a few fries in his mouth, “I mean. A _legit_ honorary member, none of that justice card bullshit that you guys give out at school visits.”

Patrick scratched his chin in thought, "Well, I have no problem with it- but, small jobs you know? And then work your way up. However—"

Sam leaned forward in anticipation. "Yeah, what?"

"You may have to convince your parents, especially after what happened to you."

Sam sunk down into his bed, hands folded over his chest. "Oh, right."

Joe chewed on his lip as he thought this over. “Tell you what, I’ll talk to them too. Explain to them that you won’t be doing anything too dangerous, at least to start. Besides, they can’t say no to both of us, right?”

Sam grinned as he sat up quickly to give his brother a hug. "Thanks Joe, you're too awesome!"

"Yeah." Joe smiled, patting his brother on the back, “I know.”

Patrick smiled as his teammates conversed happily, lost in their conversation. He knew the happiness wouldn’t last forever, and some other villain would probably show up later to ruin everything, as usual; but for now, everything was peaceful, and that was all that mattered. In a way, the citizens still depended on the Fall Out Avengers, even if no one picked them to protect the city. It wasn’t the most glamorous life, and the Fall Out Avengers didn’t get financial support for their heroism, but they always proved their worth time and time again. In the end, they wouldn’t have it any other way, and would continue to perform their duties.

_Just doing our jobs._


End file.
